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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26414536">You, Who Never Arrived</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrighteryellow/pseuds/abrighteryellow'>abrighteryellow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band), Shawn Mendes (Musician)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>90s AU, Adventure &amp; Romance, Alternate Universe, American AU, Drinking, Engaged Louis Tomlinson, Fate &amp; Destiny, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hijinks &amp; Shenanigans, It's stupidly over the top romantic, Italy, Like, M/M, Making Out, No Smut, Only You AU, Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers, World Travel, side shiall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:42:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>42,080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26414536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrighteryellow/pseuds/abrighteryellow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“That was him, Niall.” He claps a hand over a disbelieving laugh. “My soulmate – the person I’ve been waiting for since I was nine years old. That was him on the other end of the phone.”<br/>“But it can’t–” Niall stutters, unsure of what to do, how to put a stop to this. “That wasn’t real.”<br/>“Wasn’t it?” Louis rushes past him, zipping up his fly. He grabs a black denim jacket from a hook near the door. “Then who did I just talk to?”<br/>“Where are you going?” Niall demands as Louis pockets his keys and swings his front door open.<br/>“I just have to get a look at him. I just have to see, that’s all!”<br/>“You’re not serious. Louis, it’s already late.”<br/>“He’s at the airport. Fifteen years I’ve been expecting him around every corner, and now he’s half an hour away. I can’t just </em>sit<em> here.”<br/>“Bu–”<br/>“I’m not going to do anything crazy, I promise. I just–I have to see him. This is my chance. Maybe my only chance.”</em></p><p>Louis Tomlinson is days away from marrying a perfectly nice podiatrist when he gets a phone call that changes everything. Or, the <em>Only You</em> AU in which Louis has a soulmate and it's definitely <em>not</em> Harry Styles.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>227</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I can't watch a rom-com without mentally working out how I could adapt it, and I love setting things in the '90s, so this take on the 1994 CLASSIQUE <em>Only You</em>, starring Marisa Tomei and Robert Downey Jr., was perhaps inevitable.</p><p>If you haven't seen the movie, I would gently suggest that you don't look up any spoilers before you read so you can enjoy the twists. If you have seen it – well you know the general plot, but I have added and subtracted and changed some things. I hope it'll be new enough for you.</p><p>I wouldn't call this a cheating fic, but Louis is engaged to someone else when the main action starts. There are mentions of his mother passing, but grieving is not a key part of the plot. As the tags say, hijinks and shenanigans abound, but not without angst.</p><p>The Italian in this story was brought to you by Google, so my apologies for any inaccuracies or awkward phrasing there.</p><p>Much, much gratitude to Kim, Shannon, Gillian, Maggie, Sarah, and Rebecca for their encouragement, suggestions, and occasional threats.</p><p>The title is a Rilke poem that's quoted, but not named, in the movie.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Astra inclinant</em>, <em>sed non obligant.<br/>
</em>The stars incline us, they do not bind us.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 1978 </em>
</p>
<p>“You’re pushing it!”</p>
<p>“Am not!”</p>
<p>“You’re <em> both </em>pushing it. Here, gimme the directions.”</p>
<p>“There aren’t any,” Louis tells Liam. “You just ask it questions, and the spirits answer. It would be easy, if Niall would stop messing around.”</p>
<p>“I’m barely touching it!” Niall huffs, blowing his blond, fluffy bangs upwards.</p>
<p>It had been a feat of willpower for Louis to leave the Ouija board he had begged his parents for unopened between his ninth birthday and now, a few days after Christmas, when his best friends were finally free from family obligations and allowed to sleep over. Then again, there wasn’t much that he could do with it alone. The spirits wouldn’t speak through it if it were just him.</p>
<p>In preparation for tonight, he’d tried to make their basement rec room as welcoming as possible for guides from the other side. Bemused, his mother allowed the use of a single pillar candle – his Scouts experience proving that Louis could be trusted with matches – and loaned him a few multicolored scarves to drape over the lamps, muting the light.</p>
<p>There are a lot worse things third-grade boys could be doing during a sleepover than holding a seance, evidently.</p>
<p>Anyway, her mother – Louis’ grandmother – is a bit New Age-y. Always gifting her crystals and calling to seriously discuss the implications of their horoscopes.</p>
<p>His mom only endures it, having asserted her own independence by becoming as practical as Louis’ grandmother isn’t. But Louis quite likes his Nana’s way of looking at the world – as though everything were talking to each other. Like there’s a plan, and he’s a part of it. The universe is looking out for him, and all that he needs to do to find his destiny is to follow the signs. </p>
<p>There are always signs, his Nana says, if you know where to look.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, Niall and Liam aren’t as interested in the search as he is.</p>
<p>“Okay, come on,” Louis whines. “Let’s do it right.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, come on, Liam,” Niall parrots, one hand submerged in a bowl of popcorn. “Louis wants to find his soulmate.” He punctuates his remark by shoving a handful of it into his face.</p>
<p>“Soulmates aren’t real,” Liam scoffs. “That’s fairytale stuff.”</p>
<p>Louis can feel the blood rise to his face. </p>
<p>This is the part of his Nana’s philosophy that appeals to him the most. The moment she told him that there was someone put on Earth just for him, he felt like a weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying was lifted off his shoulders.</p>
<p>There was no need to worry. He was out there.</p>
<p>“Are so,” Louis counters, resettling himself in a cross-legged position across the board from his two friends. “My Nana says that we all have one. Our other half. The one we should wait for. The one who’ll wait for us. And she’s old, so.”</p>
<p>He pretends not to notice Liam raising a critical eyebrow at Niall in the middle of his speech.</p>
<p>“And then we can watch the midnight movie?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, fine. Whatever you want, Li,” Louis says, exasperated. “But you better not fall asleep tonight – I have a bowl of warm water with your name on it.”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t.”</p>
<p>“I might.”</p>
<p>“Alright, <em> alright.” </em>Niall slaps his hands together to rid them of popcorn crumbs and positions his fingertips at one corner of the planchette, then nods at Liam and Louis to do the same. </p>
<p>“So, what do we do?” he continues once they’re in position, all hunched over the board, breathing almost in tandem. Niall looks to Louis for direction. “Is there like, a chant?”</p>
<p>“No, I think…” Louis’ chest starts to tighten, like he’s on the brink of something. This answer – if he gets it – will shape his entire life. And when he meets him, he’ll know. “I think we just ask simple questions.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Niall frowns at the board. “But we should at least like...say hello, right?”</p>
<p>Louis smiles widely, a rush of love for Niall overtaking him.</p>
<p>“Sure. Yeah. I think they’d like that.”</p>
<p>“Hello, spirits,” Niall announces, raising his voice formally. “Nice weather we’re having.”</p>
<p>Louis gasps when the planchette starts to move, drifting slowly to hover over the “Hello.”</p>
<p>He’s certainly not pushing it.</p>
<p>Louis glances up at Niall, and then Liam, his heart pounding. Even Liam looks a little taken aback.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Louis gathers himself, putting all of his heart into his words. “Who is my – Louis William Tomlinson’s – soulmate?”</p>
<p>“Oh, we’re just getting right into it, okay,” he hears Liam say.</p>
<p>Louis sucks in a sip of air and holds it, staring down at the staid planchette that’s still magnifying the greeting.</p>
<p>Just when he’s about to conclude that this information is out of the realm of the spirit they’re talking to, the planchette starts to inch its way to his right, pausing resolutely at the “D.” </p>
<p>“D,” he breathes.</p>
<p>The little plastic indicator is much more sure in its next move, landing on the “A” and the “M” in quick succession.</p>
<p>Two more letters, and the boys all speak the completed name aloud.</p>
<p>“Damon.”</p>
<p>Louis swiftly jots it on the pad next to him, then returns his hand to the planchette.</p>
<p>As if it had only been waiting for his touch, the plastic piece starts to arc upwards.</p>
<p>Again, Niall, Liam, and Louis recite the letters in unison, as Louis’ future is spelled out for him.</p>
<p>“B...r…a…”</p>
<p>
  <em> Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 1982 </em>
</p>
<p>Louis stands outside of a striped tent with his friends, belly full of funnel cake and cotton candy. The air is laced with happy screams – kids on the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Ferris wheel.</p>
<p>The carnival comes to town every fall and spring. Now that he’s a teenager, Louis is expected to eschew games and rides in favor of huddling in gossipy groups, which are mostly concerned with who likes who, who’s kissed who, and who hates who. (And will for the next week, at least.) Though the swooping momentary terror of the giant slide still calls to him, Louis halfheartedly falls in line. For the most part, he’s willing to pretend that he wouldn’t rather be whipped upside down by the Turbo than stand around listening to Lisa Antonelli cry over her latest breakup.</p>
<p>But, as the teenagers made their rounds around the temporary park, he was drawn to one attraction in particular, which still holds his attention now.</p>
<p><em> Madame Davinia Tells Your Future</em>, the sign reads.</p>
<p>Four years since the spirits gave him the name of his soulmate, and Louis hasn’t met or heard of anyone who goes by it. But it hasn’t dulled his obsession with the inevitability of the universe. If anything, since his Nana died, he’s even more intent on looking for cues and following the path the gods have set for him. And so, he’s drawn to a stop in front of Madame Davina’s tent, never mind Lisa’s distress.</p>
<p>“Tommo,” Niall nudges him. “Tommo, we’re getting lemonade. You coming?”</p>
<p>“Annnnd we’ve lost him,” Liam assesses, realizing where they are.</p>
<p>“Not thirsty,” Louis says, eyes focused on the hook holding Madame Davina’s tent closed. “Go on without me, I’ll catch up with you by the Ferris wheel.”</p>
<p>Niall gives him a “you sure?” look, and Louis waves him on, compelled to stay where he is and to learn what the fortune teller knows. </p>
<p>Like magic, she sweeps the flap up with her elbow and lets her last customer free just as Louis is left alone. </p>
<p>She looks him up and down, unimpressed.</p>
<p>“You wish to speak to Madame Davina?” Her voice is thick with smoke and age.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Yes,” Louis fumbles. </p>
<p>She tilts her head, inviting him unenthusiastically into the tent.</p>
<p>“What is your name, young seeker?” she asks, taking her seat in front of a small, round table covered by a black cloth. Madame Davina waves her open palm over the misty crystal ball in front of her and raises an eyebrow towards Louis.</p>
<p>“Louis,” he says, that sense of exhilarating fear coming back to him. “Louis Tomlinson.”</p>
<p>“And you would like to know your future, Louis Tomlinson?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Yeah, I guess. Just...not anything bad, please. I don’t wanna know when I’m gonna die or anything.”</p>
<p>“Very well.”</p>
<p>She closes her eyes, and Louis is transfixed by the lined skin around them. She seems timeless and ancient and knowing, and even though the scent of buttered popcorn is seeping through the flaps of the tent, he can almost pretend that they’re not surrounded by a suburban carnival – the same one he’s been visiting since he was old enough to walk.</p>
<p>Madame Davina hums, swimming both palms over the ball now. </p>
<p>Seconds, possibly even a few minutes pass by as she communes. Louis wonders if she realizes that he’s even still there.</p>
<p>And then, just as he’s about to clear his throat and prompt some sort of response, her eyes pop open. </p>
<p>Louis resists the initial urge to back away from her intensity. He leans in closer, until he can see the flecks of kohl underneath her lower lashes. </p>
<p>“I am seeing…” Madame Davina draws out. “I am seeing a name.”</p>
<p>His heart skips a beat.</p>
<p>“The person with this name, he will be very important to you. Madame Davina, she doesn't know how, but he will.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Louis exhales. “Okay.”</p>
<p>“The name...<em> his </em> name…” the fortune teller scrunches up her face, as though she were receiving a transmission. “Is Damon. Bradley.”</p>
<p>At this, Louis stops breathing entirely. His Nana, she didn’t put much stock in people like this, who purported to be able to see the future, but only for a fee. Charlatans, she called them.</p>
<p>Part of him had assumed that this reading was a waste of his time and money. But how could she know? How could she know that name unless what the Ouija board told him was true?</p>
<p>“Damon,” he mutters, stricken and invigorated.</p>
<p>The spell is broken when Madame Davina holds out her open palm.</p>
<p>“That’s two dollars.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Louis shoves his hand into his pants to find the pocket money his mother gave him. He peels two crinkled bills off of the very small roll, and places them in the fortune teller’s grip. To his surprise, she closes her other hand over his and abruptly pulls him in close.</p>
<p>“Listen to me, Louis Tomlinson,” she says. She smells like incense and cigarettes. He comes thisclose to gagging. “Your destiny, eh? It is what <em> you </em>make it. You must not wait for it to come to you.”</p>
<p>“I...okay,” he ekes out, terrified for reasons he can’t comprehend. </p>
<p>The fortune teller gives Louis another hard look, then releases him just as quickly, flinging one wrist impatiently in the direction of the exit as she returns to her seat.</p>
<p>Louis stumbles blankly out into the noise and lights of the fairground. It’s tiny, so he finds his group again relatively quickly, falling into step next to Niall and Liam. But no amount of conversation can drown out the memory of Madame Davina’s reading.</p>
<p>Her warning, however, is quickly forgotten.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 1993 </em>
</p><p>“Destiiiino.” Louis draws out the Italian word as he scrawls it on the chalkboard in his classroom. He turns to his tenth graders after dropping the little white bullet into its tray. “From the Latin root <em> destinare </em>, which means to ‘make firm’ or ‘establish.’ That’s destiny: Something intangible made real.”</p><p>Louis takes a moment to glance around the room, picking out several girls and a few boys who’ve gone a bit dreamy on account of the topic.</p><p>He loves teaching this age. They’re old enough to understand anthropological themes like love, greed, and sex, but too young to be jaded about them. </p><p>“Plato said that humans...we didn’t always look like this. He said in the <em> Symposium </em> that we were born perfectly round, with two sets of eyes, two mouths, two noses.” The kids laugh at the mental image, and he does too. “And we were happy. We were whole. Zeus, we know about him, right? He was always jealous when humans had something that he didn’t. So with the lightning he commanded, he serrated us–” Louis cuts through the air with the side of his hand. “–right down the middle. Apollo saved us, he stitched us up so that we could survive, but there wasn’t anything he could do about our loneliness. Our incompleteness, our longing. Doing what he did, Zeus condemned humans to walk the earth searching for our other half. Searching for wholeness. For home. When we find that person, we find the rest of us.”</p><p>He stops pacing in front of his desk.</p><p>“So what do we think Plato’s story is about? What does that sound like to you?”</p><p>Miranda, a thoughtful girl with a long braid, raises her hand.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>She drops her arm to her desk.</p><p>“Love. Plato’s talking about the beginning of love.”</p><p>Louis grins. “Exactly.”</p><p>The bell rings, with impeccable timing.</p><p>“Alright, enjoy your Labor Day weekend, but don’t forget to do the reading! Pages fifteen through twenty-seven in your textbook. I’m not asking you to answer the discussion questions at the end of the chapter, so the least you can do is come back with some questions of your own!”</p><p>It’s a new group, but they’ve already established a pretty good rapport. Several kids say goodbye to him individually on their way out.</p><p>Anthropology with Mr. Tomlinson is considered a “fun” class, and not because Louis takes it easy on his students – he doesn’t. The history of culture and the culture of history are just cool subjects. There’s lust and bloodshed enough to keep even the most distracted teenager interested, with romance and great thinkers for the more bookish, sensitive kids. Louis ended up pursuing the field in college because he still liked believing that he was a part of something bigger than himself. It was comforting to reflect on where he fell in the grand scheme of human progress and mythmaking, even if his role was miniscule. </p><p>Anthropology puts it all in perspective, even that Louis and his <em> destino </em> have never caught up with each other.</p><p>Three hours after he arrives home to his South Side apartment to begin the long weekend, Louis has uncorked the wine, set out the cheese, and put on his favorite Annie Lennox album. </p><p>He’s just pouring three glasses of merlot and humming along when there’s a buzz from his intercom. Less than two minutes later, Liam and Niall are coming through his door, supplementary bottles of wine in hand. </p><p>“Come in, come in,” Louis beams, perhaps a little too animated for a relaxed night in. “Throw your stuff wherever.”</p><p>“How are ya, bud?” Niall leans in and gives him a one-armed hug. Liam claps him on the bicep, holding up his vintage for approval.</p><p>“It’s Italian!” he declares. </p><p>It’s sweet. Ever since Louis studied abroad in Florence, he’s had an affinity for the country, which his friends indulge.</p><p>“Good man,” he commends, ruffling Liam’s hair.</p><p>They talk around their days while they get their drinks and bring the snacks out from the kitchenette and into Louis’ small but fashionably decorated living room. Niall doesn’t have a three-day weekend in any sense, since holidays are huge for the department store he assistant manages. Liam’s construction crew is off the job, as they’re on a city contract right now. Neither has big plans to speak of, which leaves Louis free to drop his own news without guilt.</p><p>“Okay, so,” he begins, eyeing them excitedly over the coffee table. “I wanted to have you over because I love you, obviously. But there’s also something you should know.” Louis pauses for effect, his mind briefly flashing back to the way this announcement had gone in his head. How he’d felt about it then, in theory.</p><p>“Philip proposed.”</p><p>Niall fist pumps, and Liam’s mouth drops into an “o.”</p><p>“Holy shit, man. You’re engaged? And to a <em>doctor.” </em>Niall raises his glass, congratulating Louis on a job well done. “He saves lives.”</p><p>“Well,” Louis hesitates, “He’s a foot doctor.”</p><p>“He saves feet!” Niall declares, with a grand sweep of his arm. “Feet are important! Look, the man went to medical school, that’s all that matters.”</p><p>“And you’re getting <em> married,” </em>Liam adds, clinking his glass against Louis’. “I’m so happy for you. Tell us everything: How did he do it? Did he get down on one knee?”</p><p>“Oh, well. No, not exactly.” </p><p>“Well, that’s modern,” Niall says hurriedly. “He’s a modern guy. Progressive.”</p><p>“Who cares what he was doing when he did it!” Liam crows. “What did he say? Philip’s so smart, I bet he had a speech all prepared.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a <em> speech, </em>” Louis says breathily, feeling cornered despite Liam and Niall’s open expressions. “When there’s a lot of feeling, you know, words don’t really do it justice. We were here, you know, watching a movie, and he just kind of asked. He wanted to know if we could–” He tries to add a little drama here, dropping his voice low.  “‘–make it official.’”</p><p>Niall stares at him blankly for a split second, and Louis’ cheeks heat under his gaze.</p><p>Before Louis can stammer out another rationalization, Niall recovers his enthusiasm.</p><p>“The ring! Show us the ring.”</p><p>“Oooh, yeah, let’s see.”</p><p>“Oh, well. I would, but I don’t have it yet.”</p><p>“Are you picking it out together?” Liam asks, his brow furrowing just like it did when they were kids. Then he snaps his fingers. “No, I bet he had to get it resized.”</p><p>“Well, neither.” Louis busies himself sweeping crumbs off of the table and into his cupped hand. “Philip has the ring. I just told him I needed a day to think about it.”</p><p>There’s pure silence at that. Neither of them can come up with a thing to say.</p><p>“I’m gonna say yes!” Louis blurts out, grinning too widely. Niall and Liam come back to life on a slight delay, chuckling nervously. “Obviously. Why wouldn’t I?”</p><p>To his horror, Louis senses that each of his friends is silently answering that rhetorical question. </p><p>But he really has no right to be upset, because so is he.</p><p>Philip is Dr. Philip Alexander Dabrowski. There was a brief stint in college when he went by “Phil.” He’s never been called or known as Damon Bradley. Louis has never met a soul with that name, even though not a day has gone by that he wondered if he ever will.</p><p>Granted, he’s still young. But what does fate intend for him to do, ignore every flesh and blood man that crosses his path until the magic words come along? What if he took a left instead of a right one day or left a coffee shop ten seconds early and missed their fated meeting? Is he just supposed to be alone forever?</p><p>Of course not.</p><p>Philip is solid. Philip is real. </p><p>Philip loves him.</p><p>Louis finds that he repeats this sentiment to himself a lot, saying it silently in time to the tune of freshly washed silverware clanking into its drawer as Liam helps him clean up.</p><p>The kitchen barely has room for two, so Niall excuses himself to go check his messages, Liam “woo”-ing immaturely after him.</p><p>There’s a guy in play, about four dates in. They haven’t met him yet, but that’s no surprise. </p><p>Niall has gone through more than his fair share of shitty breakups. One high school fling with a jock who wanted to keep him a secret hadn’t ended well, to no one’s surprise. His first real love cheated on him his sophomore year at Point Park. Things with Colin fell apart when he applied to teach English in Korea after graduation, without giving Niall so much as a heads up that he was looking into it. Since then, nothing has lasted more than a couple of months, and he’s frequently lamented that he’s scraped the bottom of Pittsburgh’s gay dating barrel. </p><p>So Louis doesn’t begrudge Niall his privacy in these early stages, though it’s been nice to see his best friend acting a touch less disillusioned recently. </p><p>He turns the faucet down to a thin stream so Niall can hear his machine. Less than a minute later, he replaces the handset of Louis’ wall-mounted phone with a little more force than necessary. </p><p>Louis and Liam exchange a look.</p><p>But he doesn’t offer anything in the way of explanation, so they continue finishing up the dishes. After Louis dries the last cocktail plate and returns it to its rightful cabinet, they find Niall on the couch, flipping loudly through the channels and starting in on a fresh bottle of pinot noir.</p><p>Not that Louis minds, it had just seemed like they were wrapping up. </p><p>And that Niall might have been making another stop tonight.</p><p>“Hey,” Louis says cautiously as he approaches, reading disappointment in the set of his friend’s jaw. “Whatcha watching?”</p><p>“Two sentences,” Niall grits out. “That’s all I was worth to him – two sentences, on a fucking answering machine.”</p><p>“Oh, Nialler, no.” Louis drops to the couch next to him and puts a tentative hand on his back.</p><p>“Hey Horan, you’re <em> really </em>great,” Niall repeats, with mocking and hurt in his voice, “but I just don’t see this relationship moving on to the next step. See you around probably.”</p><p>“That’s really shitty, bro,” Liam says.</p><p>“Three nights ago, he was telling me he needed a date to his sister’s destination wedding this summer. Dropping all these hints that he was going to ask me. And then he doesn’t even have the decency to break up with me in person.”</p><p>Louis frowns and watches Niall take another slug of wine. He’d be happy to trash the guy if it would make Niall feel better – it usually does – but Niall has kept it so that neither Louis nor Liam know any specifics about him with which to trash.</p><p>“Did you feel like…was he the one?”</p><p>“No, probably not,” Niall mumbles, after a beat, his shoulders relaxing. Then his blue eyes meet Louis’. “But I was willing to put the work in to see.”</p><p>Louis hears the second half of that sentence, even as it goes unsaid. And he can’t understand it, why none of these guys – no matter how Niall meets them, what they do, or how eager they seem to be at the beginning – have really shown up for him. He’s the best guy Louis knows – has been since they traded pudding cup flavors the first day of kindergarten – and he’s worthy of that investment.</p><p>“He didn’t deserve any more of your time.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Niall shrugs off Louis’ sincerity and returns to cycling through the channels. “I’m fine.”</p><p>Louis glances at the pinot, realizing that if they don’t help, Niall will just finish it himself and this not-fine “fine” will turn into something messier. He takes a clean glass from the bar next to him, then raises his eyebrow at Liam, who nods, then plants himself on the floor facing the TV.</p><p>Niall takes out his frustration on the remote, barely staying on each channel long enough to perceive what’s playing. Louis thinks he hears a basketball buzzer at one point, and a local news anchor’s voice at another. But he almost spills Liam’s wine across his coffee table when a musical note zings right into the memory center of his brain, making him stand straight up and, quite honestly, forget completely the sad topic they’d just been discussing.</p><p>“Go back, go back!” he commands, gesturing at the remote like he’s going to confiscate it from Niall.</p><p>“What?” Niall flips back, but goes one channel too far.</p><p>“Up! Go up one!”</p><p>Liam gingerly reaches across the coffee table to get his glass out of the way of Louis’ flailing hands. </p><p>“Seriously?” Niall says as music wafts from the TV and he realizes what they’ve been locked into. “You’ve only seen it a hundred times.”</p><p>“It’s<em> South Pacific</em>, Niall. Rodgers and Hammerstein. An American classic. It was <em> made </em>to be watched a hundred times.”</p><p>It’s his favorite scene, even. Wealthy Frenchman Emile de Becque sings “Some Enchanted Evening” to his young love, Nellie, an American nurse, to explain the wonder he feels at her coming into his life. He sings about his love for her like it was preordained – the magic of love <em> before </em>first sight. The song gave Louis chills the first time he heard it, and it’s never lost any of its meaning for him.</p><p><em> Some enchanted evening </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> Someone may be laughing </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> You may hear her laughing across a crowded room </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> And night after night </em> <br/><em> As strange as it seems </em> <em> <br/>The sound of her laughter will sing in your dreams</em></p><p>“Why don’t they write songs like this anymore?” Louis sighs, sinking back into the couch cushions and letting the strings of the melody wash over him.</p><p>“Probably because they’re corny,” Liam mutters.</p><p>“See, that’s your problem, Li – you’re happily married going on two years already, and you’re still so cynical about love. However do you manage it?”</p><p>“This isn’t love, Louis. This is...schmaltz. It’s manipulative, it’s written to make you feel a certain way. Love’s more complicated than meeting across a crowded room. Winnie and I were long distance all through college, and it wasn’t moonlight and magic every night. It was work.”</p><p>“But not always,” Louis argues childishly. “It doesn’t have to be.”</p><p>Liam opens his mouth like he has something to say, but thinks the better of it and sips his wine instead.</p><p>“Look at it logically for a second: Love had to come before love <em> songs, </em> right? Like, in the grand scheme of existence? And that has to mean that, for <em> someone, </em> even if it wasn’t the writers directly, this–” Louis points his wine glass at the screen. “–was real. It <em> is </em> real. Yes, they add poetry and metaphor, but to sit down and write something this moving? They had to use their friends, their lives, their <em> experiences… </em>”</p><p>“Their imaginations.” Niall says darkly.</p><p>Louis tears his eyes from the TV to glance at Niall, who’s glaring at Emile and Nellie like they’re his sworn enemies, and he feels the cold stab of guilt.</p><p>“It’s gonna happen for you, Ni,” he says gently and cheerfully, patting his friend on his knee. “I know it is. And it’s gonna be perfect.”</p><p>“You’re an idealistic son of a bitch and I hope you never change,” Niall answers. “Seriously, please don’t. You almost give me hope. But I think ‘perfect’s just in the movies.”</p><p>Louis turns back to the film in time to catch the end of the song. </p><p>Niall’s probably right. If Louis had waited for “perfect,” he wouldn’t be practically engaged to a very nice podiatrist. And who says love has to announce itself like fireworks or make your heart sing like a technicolor musical? Maybe sometimes, it starts as an awkward blind date where he’s so nervous that he keeps talking over you, and you only agree to go out again because you don’t want the friend who set you up to feel bad. Maybe it’s falling into a routine of Friday night Chinese and Saturday night pizza and the farmer’s market on Sunday, to the point where you can’t remember the last time you had to get dressed up to do anything. Maybe it’s feeling secure, even that’s a little boring sometimes.</p><p>For as long as he can remember, Louis has been dreaming of starting a life with someone.</p><p>And isn’t that what he’s doing?</p><p>They kick the bottle long before the end of the movie, which neither Niall nor Liam seem keen to stick around for.</p><p>Louis continues half-watching it from the corner of his eye as he walks them to the door.</p><p>“You’ll call us when it’s official, won’t you?” Liam says. When Louis meets his big, brown eyes, they look concerned.</p><p>“God, I almost forgot why we were here,” Niall says, pulling Louis into a hug. “Congratulations, really. Sorry I’m such a grumpy fuck. He’s a lucky guy.”</p><p>“If Louis says yes, he is.” Liam’s tone is joking, but his expression is still vaguely serious.</p><p>They’re all the same age, but Liam decided to be the mature one early in their friendship. He seemed to believe it was his solemn duty to bring Louis and Niall back down to earth whenever one of their schemes was likely to fail. He’s looking at Louis in that annoyingly dad-like way right now, which is confusing, because of course Louis is going to accept Philip. First thing in the morning, that’s just what he’ll do. </p><p>After all, he gave the universe every chance to drop a sign that he shouldn’t.</p><p>*****</p><p>Louis doesn’t know half the people at this party.</p><p>His own family is small, smaller now with his mom gone. His stepdad was invited, but they both knew he wasn’t likely to make the trip twice from where he resettled in West Virginia, close enough to his favorite casino that he can usually beg a ride home from a bartender, cocktail waitress, or another avid Keno player. And obviously the wedding reception was more important than the engagement party. </p><p>Even Louis approached it as a formality. He’d already celebrated with all of the important people in his life. Niall and Liam went in on a floral arrangement that almost overwhelmed his apartment. His fellow teachers took him out after work on a Friday, encircling him with sashes and beads like it was an actual bachelor party and not happy hour at Jack’s. But when Philip told him that his parents wanted to throw them an engagement thing, Louis had been content to go along with it. Aside from issuing invitations to the people <em> they </em>wanted there – who were far and away outnumbered by Philip’s father’s clients and their wives – they hadn’t had to lift a finger.</p><p>Philip’s mother Lillian even suggested that the party coincide with the holiday season, which, Louis suspected, was a decision motivated by her desire to show off her home to ultimate effect. Neither Louis nor Philip had any argument, and Lillian has always been good to Louis – certainly warmer than Philip Senior, who appears desperate to flee at every expression of affection. And it makes Louis happy now to see Lillian floating through the room, her shoulder-padded deep red skirt suit complementing the chi-chi Christmas decor designed and applied to perfection by a prim consultant and her terrifyingly precise team. </p><p>“Quite the family you’re marrying into,” Niall says under his breath, his eyes also following Lillian as she greets her equally monied guests. “Is it true they have a box at the stadium?”</p><p>“Season ticket holders for fifteen years,” Louis replies, keeping his smile in place. “I think Senior went to school with one of the Rooneys.”</p><p>“Shit, they know the <em> owners? </em>Why am I just hearing about this now?”</p><p>“Philip doesn’t really pay attention to the Steelers,” Louis says smoothly. “Football’s not his thing.”</p><p>“I don’t care! You lease a box in Three Rivers Stadium, you <em> make </em>it your thing.”</p><p>Liam keeps casting quick, backwards glances as he approaches.</p><p>“I think one of your fiancé’s mother’s friends just hit on me,” he whispers, scandalized. “Unless I severely misunderstood a comment about unwrapping.”</p><p>“You could be some bored trophy wife’s dirty little secret, Leemo,” Niall teases, not meaning a word. They all adore Winnie, who’s joining them after her commercial shoot. </p><p>“I thought I made it pretty obvious I wasn’t available.” Liam raises his flute with his left hand, showing off his platinum band. “But she didn’t take the hint.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t be so sure wedding rings are a dealbreaker in this company.”</p><p>Louis’ guest-of-honor veneer cracks momentarily, and he shoots Niall a wounded look.</p><p>“Lou, Jesus,” he says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”</p><p>“There’s my groom.”</p><p>In head-to-toe Brooks Brothers and bearing two more glasses of champagne, Louis’ fiancé joins their group. The cranberries at the base of the flutes tumble around when Philip hands him his, trading it for Louis’ empty, which he places on the tray of a cater waiter passing by. Try as he might, Louis can’t taste the fruit, but Lillian had insisted that their signature cocktail have a pop of seasonally appropriate color.</p><p>Regardless, he squeezes the back of Philip’s arm in thanks as Liam and Niall offer their compliments on the party.</p><p>“Your parents really outdid themselves,” Liam says, shaking Philip’s hand. </p><p>“They certainly know how to hire all the right people,” Philip answers with a conspiratorial tilt of his head.</p><p>Louis’ friends laugh politely at the light dig, but no one takes the joke further. Only because it would be rude to make fun of the Dabrowskis in their own home, not because Liam and Niall have never seemed totally at ease around Philip. At least that’s how Louis chooses to interpret it tonight.</p><p>“Anyway, we all know what’s lighting up this room, and it’s not the Christmas tree.”</p><p>Louis blushes, hiding his embarrassment behind his champagne. It had taken him ages to get used to his fiancé’s cheesy but heartfelt compliments, and they still catch him off-guard when they’re in public – especially in front of his oldest friends.</p><p>“That he does, Philip,” Niall grins, delighted. “That he does.”</p><p>“Can I borrow him for just a second?”</p><p>Without waiting for an answer, Philip takes Louis’ elbow, already beginning to steer him into a corner.</p><p>Louis’ heart pounds blissfully at the idea that he’s marrying someone who still can’t wait to get him alone – who’d whisk him away at a crowded party, just to steal a kiss. He slugs the last bit of champagne in his glass and licks his lips in preparation, but when Philip crowds him in between the credenza and the gift table, his expression lacks the recklessness Louis was hoping to see.</p><p>“So,” Philip begins happily. “I have fantastic news. I was talking to my mother, and it turns out that the club had a cancellation for the second Saturday in June. She and the booker were in the same sorority or something, and Mom’s convinced her to keep it on the calendar until we decide.”</p><p>Louis can’t fathom what he’s talking about or why it’s important right now. Are they meant to be planning a brunch?</p><p>“Until we decide what?”</p><p>“These spring weekend dates book two years out, Louis. They’re <em> impossible </em>to get.”</p><p>Everything inside him sinks. </p><p>They haven’t set a date yet, but that’s because they didn’t want a big wedding. Louis had always pictured his as something intimate – a celebration of deep love and commitment instead of an excuse to collect gifts. And he hadn’t been shy about expressing it. Every time Louis made a comment about just flying off somewhere – preferably Italy – and saying their vows to each other overlooking a breathtaking view, Philip had hummed and drawn him closer. Like he agreed.</p><p>Like he wanted it too.</p><p>“I’m sure that’s true, but it wasn’t in the plan.” Louis’ voice sounds high and strangled in his own head. “Well, such as it is. Was it?”</p><p>“It never came up,” Philip says simply, a smile still plastered on his face. “You said you wanted to get married next year, so I didn’t think it was even worth mentioning. But now that it’s available…”</p><p>Suddenly, Louis has to move. He wriggles past Philip and draws him into the hallway, where there are fewer curious eyes and gossiping mouths.</p><p>“Do you know how many couples in Pittsburgh would gladly kill both of us for this venue?” Philip says after him.</p><p>“So that’s reason enough to do things? Making other people jealous? I thought we were on the same page: we have our honeymoon first, get married in Italy, and then an outdoor reception when we get home. Just close friends and family.”</p><p>Philip looks at Louis with love, but also with a pitying gaze that puts a sour taste in the back of his throat.</p><p>“Baby, I know that’s a dream of yours, but do you really want to get married halfway across the world without anyone we know?”</p><p>Louis stares at him like they’ve just met.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Baby…”</p><p>“Don’t ‘baby’ me, please. Why would your mom even be trying to find us a venue? She knew we wanted to go abroad–” Philip looks quickly away, guilty. “–She <em> didn’t </em> know we wanted to go abroad. Philip, you never <em> told </em>her?”</p><p>“Baby, if it were up to me, we would. But it would have killed her. You’ve seen her in there, bragging about us to everyone she knows...” In Louis’ opinion, she’s done more bragging about their new sun porch, but mentioning that probably won’t help his case. Before he can think more of it, Philip takes his hands and looks seriously into his eyes. “I couldn’t tell my mother that she wouldn’t be there to watch her only son get married.”</p><p>And Louis’ heart cracks open. He thinks his mother would have understood if she were still around – that planning a private wedding didn’t take anything away from what she meant to him. But maybe he’s just projecting that thought onto her memory so he can do what he wants. Maybe he’s so eager to elope because he hardly has a family left to speak of. </p><p>And Philip isn’t like him. He has parents and cousins and aunts and uncles and second cousins twice removed. Is it fair to deny him the wedding that <em> he </em>wants?</p><p>Louis hadn’t realized he’d been so selfish.</p><p>“Okay,” he exhales, after a long moment. Philip brightens. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”</p><p>Philip does kiss him before they return to the party, but it’s close-mouthed and perfunctory.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As it turns out, planning a three-hundred-seat semi-formal wedding in barely six months requires every second of free time.</p><p>They’d done most of the heavy lifting together, with Philip’s mother as a vocal and opinionated third wheel. What another groom might be annoyed by, Louis was almost grateful for. Lillian had a name, a checkbook, and a steely attitude that brooked no argument in the city she ruled. She was able to get more done with a single phone call than Louis could in a whole afternoon. And, seeing as Louis doesn’t have a lot of opinions about country club weddings, he’s been content to let her sensibilities guide many of their decisions. </p><p>Yet, a week out from the big day, it seems as though there’s still so much to do. Tonight had been designated for the seating chart, but Louis lost Philip to an emergency call. (What emergencies <em> feet </em>could experience, he was looking forward to finding out.) That left Louis alone with a poster board, several colors of Sharpie, and a stack of Post-Its. And as many times as his fiancé had patiently explained the interlocking gripes and drama amongst his parents’ social circle, Louis can’t remember now whether he’s supposed to seat the Bauers at the same table as the Laufers or as far away from them as possible.</p><p>He’s utterly stuck, even though the chart is due to the calligrapher – his wedding has a <em> calligrapher, </em>for Christ’s sake – tomorrow morning.</p><p>By the time his reinforcements show up, Louis is flat on his back amongst the office supplies, pledging to stop giving into other people so easily.</p><p>“How’s the bride-to–boy, oh, boy.”</p><p>Niall takes off his shoes at the door and pads carefully into the room, avoiding the precious squares of paper that surround Louis like a shitty solar system.</p><p>“That good, huh?”</p><p>Louis groans, slapping a blank Post-It to his forehead.</p><p>“How can I help?”</p><p>“You got a time machine?”</p><p>“Not in these pants.”</p><p>“Ha, ha,” Louis enunciates, sitting up. Niall takes a seat on the couch and gives him a sympathetic look. </p><p>“You’re almost there, Lou. Next Saturday, you’ll be married. And you’ll forget all about the dumb shit you had to do to make that happen.”</p><p>Louis stares at the yellow sheets near his lap: O’Neal, Lautner, Krueger. </p><p>The names don’t mean anything to him.</p><p>“Will I?”</p><p>Niall leans forward and slowly peels the Post-It away from his skin. It makes a gentle ripping sound.</p><p>“You’ve got cold feet. Everybody gets them. Even Liam, remember?”</p><p>Louis snorts gently, balling his hands up in his oversized black t-shirt.</p><p>“He asked us to sneak him out of the church, didn’t he?”</p><p>“He offered me two hundred bucks,” Niall confirms. “I was still an associate at the time. I thought about it, I really did.”</p><p>Louis laughs, then quiets. Niall gives him the space to verbalize what’s really happening inside of him, and he’s thankful for it.</p><p>“Somehow, I just feel like...like all of this is happening without me,” is the way he sums it up.</p><p>He locks eyes with Niall, who seems to be on the verge of revealing something, his sympathy crystallizing into a thought that might validate Louis’ hesitance.</p><p>And then the phone rings.</p><p>“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Louis declares, scrambling to his feet. “I wouldn’t have to, but Philip is forwarding his calls. Could be another foot emergency. Two in one night, that’s probably some kind of record.”</p><p>“Course,” Niall says.</p><p>Louis throws another apologetic glance back at him, then removes the phone from its cradle.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Hello?” the male voice at the other end says. “Hello, who’s this? I’m trying to reach Philip Dabrowski?”</p><p>“Hi, yes. This is his number, I’m his boyf–fiancé, Louis. Can I give him a message?”</p><p>“Oh, Louis! It’s nice to meet you, though I’m sorry it’s only like this. I can’t make it to your wedding, that’s why I’m calling.”</p><p>No fucking room anyway. The event planner has had the head count for at least a week. But at least this invitee thought they rated a personal call.</p><p>“I held onto the RSVP card because I hoped I would, but I unfortunately have to go away for business. I’m calling you from the airport.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s too bad,” Louis murmurs, attempting to sound disappointed. “We’ll certainly miss you. May I have your name so I can tell Philip that you called?”</p><p>“Oh, of course, I’m so sorry, it’s–”</p><p>The words are drowned out by an announcement over the airport PA – someone evidently left their bag in the boarding area.</p><p>“Sorry, I lost you for a second there,” Louis says once the announcement is over. “What was your name?”</p><p>“It’s Damon,” the caller says, the line now crystal clear. “Damon Bradley.”</p><p>Louis almost drops the phone.</p><p>“You’re–it’s what?”</p><p>“Damon Bradley, with a ‘B.’” he says.</p><p><em>Well, I know </em>that, Louis thinks.</p><p>It’s truly surreal. Almost his whole life, Louis has waited for someone to say those words. Even after he convinced himself that waiting for it was childish and idealistic – long after he stopped believing that it <em> had </em> to happen, he still thought it <em> would. </em>Even if he could barely admit it to himself.</p><p>And it finally has, eight days before his wedding.</p><p>“Damon!” he almost yells into the phone. Niall snaps his neck to look at him. Louis just shakes his head, feeling completely detached from reality. “And where did you say you were headed off to?”</p><p>“Italy,” Louis’ <em> destino </em>says. “Venice, to be exact. My flight leaves in a little over an hour, actually. This was a last-minute work trip.”</p><p>“Oh, <em> Venice, </em>” Louis purrs, making wild gesticulations to Niall in the process. “What a beautiful city. So romantic.”</p><p>“Right,” Damon says awkwardly. “Well, I should be going. Please give my regards to Philip, and congratulations to you both. I really wish I could be there.”</p><p>“As do we.” Louis may be about to come out of his skin. “Goodbye, thank you for calling.”</p><p>He presses the handset tab rather than hanging the phone up completely, then releases it and dials *-6-9. An automated voice tells Louis that the phone that just called him has a 412 area code. He hangs up before it can ask if he wants to dial the number back. </p><p>Damon Bradley is local. He’s been right under Louis’ nose, possibly his whole life.</p><p>There’s no question of what he has to do.</p><p>“If Philip calls, tell him I’m at Liam and Winnie’s,” Louis says, rushing into his bedroom to change out of his sweats and pull on some jeans. </p><p>“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would I be here alone? Lou.” Niall follows him into the room. “Lou, what are you doing?”</p><p>“That was him, Niall.” He claps a hand over a disbelieving laugh. “My soulmate – the person I’ve been waiting for since I was nine years old. That was him on the other end of the phone.”</p><p>“But it can’t–” Niall stutters, unsure of what to do, how to put a stop to this. “That wasn’t real.”</p><p>“Wasn’t it?” Louis rushes past him, zipping up his fly. He grabs a black denim jacket from a hook near the door. “Then who did I just talk to?”</p><p>“Where are you going?” Niall demands as Louis pockets his keys and swings his front door open.</p><p>“I just have to get a look at him. I just have to see, that’s all!”</p><p>“You’re not serious. Louis, it’s already late.”</p><p>“He’s at the airport. Fifteen years I’ve been expecting him around every corner, and now he’s half an hour away. I can’t just <em> sit </em>here.”</p><p>“Bu–”</p><p>“I’m not going to do anything crazy, I promise. I just–I have to see him. This is my chance. Maybe my only chance.”</p><p>Niall catches the edge of the door before Louis can slam it behind him, and Louis wildly wonders if he’s going to have to fight his way out.</p><p>He turns back to see Niall holding out a brown leather square to him.</p><p>His wallet.</p><p>“Let me come with you, at least.”</p><p>Every precious second that ticks by causes Louis excruciating pain.</p><p>“No, no. It’s okay, I swear. It’ll be faster if it’s just me.”</p><p>Niall nods, seeming understanding but also stuck. They’ve been in each other’s pockets for most of their lives, and he knows very well that there’s nothing he could possibly say that would stop Louis now.</p><p>“I’ll be back in an hour and a half,” Louis calls as he hustles backwards down the hall. “Two, tops!”</p><p>“Be <em> careful, </em>” Niall shouts, but Louis is already taking the stairs down to the lobby two at a time.</p><p>His neighborhood has a hearty nightlife scene. It’s not always his favorite feature, but it certainly is now, because it means that he has no trouble hailing a cab.</p><p>When he tells the driver his destination, the guy frowns into the rearview mirror, probably on account of Louis having no luggage with him. But he quotes him the flat rate from the city anyway, and Louis sighs in relief when he counts out well over double that in cash in the wallet he almost left behind because his brain had short-circuited the second Damon had said his name.</p><p>He really should have paid better attention to the invite list, but as long as Liam and Niall were going to be there, he was happy.</p><p>Louis has ample time during the ride to reconsider tearing out of his apartment and leaving Niall to answer some potentially awkward questions from Philip. But after searching his heart for a good twenty seconds, he can’t find an ounce of regret in it. The urge to know is just too great. And what’s he really losing besides $100 in cab fare and a few more grueling hours with the seating chart from hell? </p><p>No, his time is better spent rehearsing what he’ll say to his soulmate when they’re – at long last – face to face. Louis tries several different greetings in his head and some under his breath, which draw a few irritated but not disinterested glances from his driver. He’s stuck particularly on how much to reveal.</p><p>There was a time, before Louis was engaged to be married, that he would have let it all spill out. Because though it’s unlikely that Damon also had a name literally spelled out for him, everything Louis believes about destiny tells him that the other man would still just know. And if that were the case, what use would there be for pleasantries? </p><p>But the window has closed. Louis is very nearly someone’s husband, and as soon as he decided to let that happen, he also let go of the idea of spending the rest of his life with his soulmate. Anyway, how many people could say that they’ve even met theirs, let alone ended up with them? </p><p>At this stage, all that matters is that Damon Bradley is <em> real. </em>He’s out in the world and linked to Louis in a thoroughly unexpected but undoubtedly concrete way. </p><p>Would he be his Nana’s grandson if he didn’t at least look into it?</p><p>Louis is shoving bills towards the front seat as the cab eases into the departures area of Pittsburgh International, busy because it’s past time to check in for overseas red-eye flights.</p><p>“Here is fine!” he says loudly, discouraging his driver from trying to cram the car into an empty spot closer to the sliding doors. Louis climbs out of the cab then darts through a couple of rows of hugging family members and pieces of rolling luggage being heaved out of trunks. </p><p>It’s bright and loud and chaotic inside, which momentarily disorients him after being in the dark cocoon of the car. But weirdly, Louis loves this airport. It’s one of his favorite places in the world, and he knows his way around.</p><p>Once Liam got his license, his late summer birthday and secondhand Civic making him automatic chauffeur to his friends, he, Louis, and Niall started coming here for fun, just to change things up from heading to the mall every weekend. They’d wander around for whole afternoons, spraying each other with cologne at the Duty Free shop, gorging on Auntie Anne’s, and watching travelers be seen off or reunited with their loved ones. </p><p>When Louis was 20, they all returned – with the addition of his mom – to send him off to his study abroad program. Clutching his brand new passport and a ticket to Florence, he was able to put his finger on what he loves so much about the airport, even when he himself wasn’t heading anywhere: anticipation was always in the air.</p><p>Bypassing the ticket counters, Louis bounds down the escalators that lead to the security checkpoint. He holds his breath until the line comes into view, and sighs in relief when he sees that all the lanes are open and that the wait only stretches a couple of roped-off rows.</p><p>He speeds through as soon as it’s his turn, dropping his keys and wallet into a little plastic bowl and stepping through the metal detector, which doesn’t make a sound. With the forethought of a frequent flyer, Louis positions himself at the farthest set of doors to the tram that runs back and forth from security to the terminals. It’s the closest to his destination and may shave a few moments off of his travel time.</p><p>Despite the rush of blood in his ears, during the twenty-second ride, he still challenges himself, as he always does, to balance without leaning against the wall or holding onto a rail, smiling at a little girl who he catches doing the same.</p><p>He slides through the automatic doors as soon as the opening is wide enough to accommodate him, then races up the left side of the escalator, shouting apologies to weighed-down travelers as he goes. </p><p>At first glance, the departures board is just a jumble of letters and numbers. Louis swipes his hair back and squeezes his eyes shut for a second, willing them to focus. Thankfully, the symbols start to take recognizable shape, and he travels down the alphabet as speedily as he can, finding a singular direct flight to Venice right between the statuses for Tampa and Washington, D.C. </p><p>The word “boarding” stares him down in green block letters. </p><p>“D88!” he declares optimistically, which earns him a few stares. But he barely clocks them and wouldn’t have cared if he did, taking off towards the D arm of the building and chanting the gate number over and over again as he runs. </p><p>He’s halfway down the long hallway when he realizes that D88 is the farthest gate from the center of the airport.</p><p>Louis ignores the sharp pain in his lungs and picks up speed, dodging strollers and bags and people who somehow remain oblivious to the importance of this moment.</p><p>
  <em> D82, D84, D86… </em>
</p><p>The crowd thins out when the dead end comes into view. The sign overhead tells Louis that he’s arrived, but the gate is totally empty but for two uniformed agents wrapping up the boarding process. To his terror, Louis is just in time to watch one of them disengage the mechanism keeping the boarding door open. </p><p>“Wait!” he calls, voice strained. “Wait, I’m here!”</p><p>The man freezes, keeping the heavy door from falling shut, then looks to his colleagues.</p><p>“Ma’am, please,” Louis approaches the woman at the counter. “I need to see someone on that plane.”</p><p>“You just made it, but you’d better hurry,” she says, her customer service smile taming her otherwise obvious annoyance. “May I see your boarding pass?”</p><p>“No, I don’t ha–” Louis heaves in a breath, his heart thumping against his ribs. “I’m not traveling. I just need to see someone who’s on board. It’s an emergency.”</p><p>The gate agent drops her training and frowns.</p><p>“Sir, I’m sorry, but federal regulations–”</p><p>Louis walks forward, holding his palms out pleadingly. “If you could just let me on, just for a second.”</p><p>The woman he’s speaking to tenses. The other gate agent lets the door snap shut.</p><p>“No. No, please.” </p><p>The tears start to come, and there’s nothing Louis can do about it. All the hope that carried him here disappears in a puff of smoke, only to be replaced by the most abject despair.</p><p>He absently registers the male agent speaking lowly into a radio, eyeing him like he’s a rabid animal about to strike.</p><p>Louis turns towards the floor-to-ceiling windows and helplessly watches the jetway pull back as the plane carrying the dream he hadn’t realized he’d never given up comes alive.</p><p>A lump forms in his throat, and it’s like he’s drowning. The escape hatch he subconsciously built into his relationship with Philip has been sealed. Louis realizes in a shock of devastating clarity that he’s never felt anything as strong as this for his fiancé – not in any direction, not for anything he has or hasn’t done. </p><p>He’s just...indifferent.</p><p>And this was never about “just seeing” Damon.</p><p>“Sir. I’m sorry. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”</p><p>Louis glances up at the hard-faced woman, who is looking pointedly at something behind him. He swivels his neck to see a burly TSA agent standing at a respectful but deliberate distance.</p><p>“No,” he says emphatically. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”</p><p>*****</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>“Thank god. Are you okay?”</p><p>“I am,” he says, leaning into the frame of the payphone. “I will be.”</p><p>“Are you on your way back?” Niall asks. “Philip’s not home yet, but I’m still not sure how to explain this. Maybe I should just leave? And what happened with Damon, did you actually talk to him? Who is he?”</p><p>“Listen, listen. Don’t worry about Philip. I know I’ve already asked a lot of you tonight, but what I need you to do right now is pack a bag for me. That black carry-on in the back of my closet.”</p><p>“Hold on–”</p><p>“Just a couple of pairs of pants, a few t-shirts, and some light sweaters. And my black Loafers, those Gucci knockoffs I got in the Strip. Oh! And all my nice underwear.”</p><p>“Wait, just slow down–”</p><p>“My dopp kit’s in the bathroom,” Louis barrels on, feeling like a different person than the one who left Niall in his apartment just an hour ago. Hell, his journey back from Terminal D had been transformative in and of itself, even with the large TSA man following closely behind him. “All the toiletries I need should be in there. My passport – you should probably grab that first so you don’t forget – is in the top drawer of my dresser.”</p><p>“Hey, hey, hey, <em> stop. </em> I’m not doing anything until you tell me what’s going on.”</p><p>“I missed him, just barely. Watched his plane back away from the gate.”</p><p>“That sucks, man.” And Niall sounds genuinely disappointed for him. “Really, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“But I know where he’s going. And there are plenty of seats on the next flight – I couldn’t hold one without my passport, but I should be fine.”</p><p>There’s silence on the other end of the line, but it doesn’t sway him. This is right. It’s the only conceivable next step.</p><p>“I don’t know how to explain it so that it’ll make sense to anyone else. But I feel like I can’t move forward with my life unless I see this through. I don’t want to marry Philip and grow old wondering whether something else could have been better if I’d just been brave enough to find out.”</p><p>“So you’re going to fuck off to Italy by yourself? What are you going to do when you get there?”</p><p>“Find him!” Louis says, his hope returning in bigger, brighter force. “I’ll figure it out, call around to places. Venice isn’t very big, you know.”</p><p>“This <em> is </em>crazy, you are aware of that, right?”</p><p>“Maybe it is. But wouldn’t it be crazier to just forget that this ever happened? Like, truly, Niall: what are the chances? If I don’t try again...I’m just going to regret it for the rest of my life.”</p><p>Louis waits through another pause. If Niall refuses to enable him, he’ll have no choice but to go home and act like everything’s fine. But he’s worn that muscle down; he just doesn’t have it in him anymore.</p><p>“Stay near ticketing,” Niall says evenly. “How long do I have?”</p><p>Louis puts a hand over his heart and breathes in deeply, relieved. Niall doesn’t sound thrilled about it, but he’ll take the wins he can get.</p><p>“A couple of hours, easily. It’s the first flight out at dawn.”</p><p>“You owe me. I don’t know when I’m going to collect, but it’s going to be big.”</p><p>“Anything. Have I ever told you you’re my hero?”</p><p>“Sing it to me when I get there, you lunatic.”</p><p>Louis’ grin falls away when Niall speaks again.</p><p>“What about Philip? Should I leave a note or something?”</p><p>“Oh.” Right, that guy. “Just say we decided to go to your place.”</p><p>He can hear Niall’s eyebrow arch upwards. “That all?”</p><p>“It’s too much to explain in a note! I’ll call him and tell him everything when I land, I swear.”</p><p>“Okaaaaay…”</p><p>“Just get here, yeah? And don’t forget: the good underwear.”</p><p>After hanging up, Louis drops – mentally and physically exhausted – into a nearby chair. This is without a doubt the longest night of his life already, and he has nothing to distract him while he waits for Niall, other than to imagine all the obstacles that could keep his friend and supplies from reaching the airport in time. </p><p>And he does just that, conjuring up various inconveniences and acts of god, until his overloaded brain shuts down and he drops off into an uncomfortable sleep. For a few seconds after being shaken awake, he forgets where he is, his anxiousness and imagination colluding to convince him that he’s in some kind of storm shelter, waiting out the tornado that grounded all flights.</p><p>Eventually, Niall’s face comes into focus, and Louis notices that he’s wearing his reading glasses instead of his contacts.</p><p>“There he is.”</p><p>He also has two rolling suitcases with him instead of one, plus a backpack. </p><p>“Which airline is it?”</p><p>And he’s holding two passports in his hand. </p><p>“Come on, rise and shine. If I came all the way down here and we missed those seats, I’m going to kill you.”</p><p>“What’s happening,” Louis asks flatly, beyond confused.</p><p>“You really thought I was going to let you do something this stupid alone? I’m offended, honestly.”</p><p>He’s smiling down at Louis indulgently, but there’s excitement dancing in his eyes. </p><p>Overcome, Louis launches himself into Niall’s arms, almost knocking him backwards.</p><p>Sitting at the airport’s twenty-four-hour McDonald’s after they charge their exorbitant last-minute tickets and go through security, Louis serenades Niall with another purposely off-key rendition of “Wind Beneath My Wings.” Niall threatens to abandon him in Italy, but from the way he keeps glancing wonderingly at their boarding passes, Louis knows he feels it too:</p><p>Finally, suddenly, anything can happen.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For all the time he’s ambled away in this airport, Louis has never camped out until morning.</p><p>The walkways and gates clear out considerably after midnight, with most of the stores and restaurants shutting down. With no other way to entertain themselves after finishing their late-night fast food, Louis and Niall settle at their gate to wait for their early morning boarding.  </p><p>But even before that, figuring that it would save them precious time when they arrived, Louis hit the MAC machine and then the currency exchange to turn his dollars into lira. While he was there, a strip of colorful international calling cards caught his eye, and he asked for one, along with a traveler’s guide to Italy.</p><p>How else was he supposed to find out where, in all of Venice, Damon Bradley was staying?</p><p>As soon as Louis calculates that it’s a decent hour in Europe, he leaves Niall dozing across three chairs and sets up at another bank of payphones. Opening the guidebook to the “Accommodations” section, he begins calling the list of recommended hotels, starting with the five-star establishments. After only 20 minutes of dialing long, complicated phone numbers and praying that the calling card code keeps working, he gets the answer he’s looking for.</p><p>The front desk agent at Londra Palace informs him that yes, Signor Bradley is scheduled to check in that day – would Signor like to leave him a message? </p><p>Louis quickly declines, thanks him, and hangs up, returning to a now-snoring Niall with the hotel’s page dog-eared and address circled. They’re still in Pennsylvania, but already, he feels  closer to the life he’s meant to be living, and it calms him. Louis passes the rest of the wait reading through the guidebook, refusing to let his guard completely down until they’re actually on the plane.</p><p>One they are – crammed into middle seats separated by a few rows – he finally drops off, waking only for the second drinks service and late lunch. </p><p>It feels like a dream, filing off of the stuffy 747 that’s been their home for the last eleven hours and into the Venice Marco Polo Airport. The terminal is bustling, and the further he and Niall get from their gate, the less English they hear spoken around them. Niall reminds him that it’s only his second time abroad as well, having applied for his passport four years ago for a family reunion in Ireland. And Dublin had a much different vibe. For starters, he remarks astutely, Italians wear a lot more black than the Irish.</p><p>After stopping in a bathroom, they allow themselves to get swept up by the crowd, streaming into baggage claim to pick up their luggage and then outside for ground transportation pickup. Louis had figured out with his guidebook that they’d have to catch a cab to the water bus that would take them into Venice proper, and he could swear that tears come to Niall’s eyes when he hears that they still have almost two hours left to travel. </p><p>“Louis, it’s, what?” Niall consults his watch. “Almost eleven o’clock here? Do the ferries even run that late?”</p><p>“They do,” Louis answers stubbornly, holding the guidebook open. “It says ‘infrequently,’ but they do.”</p><p>The night is cool and bracing, the sky clear. Buses and cabs roll past them as they argue, bags at their feet.</p><p>“We won’t get there until after one. If Damon–” Niall says the name a little self-consciously, like he’s Louis’ imaginary friend. “–is even there, he’ll be asleep. Don’t you think your first meeting will go a little better if you, a complete stranger, didn’t wake him up in the middle of the night and scare the shit out of him?”</p><p>Louis rubs the nape of his neck, fighting futilely against the pragmatism of Niall’s words.</p><p>“Let’s get a hotel near here, just until morning. Get some sleep in an actual bed. Because I’m going to be honest with you, dude: You have looked better.”</p><p>That’s not difficult to believe. Louis’ armpits are sticky, the inside of his mouth thick. His hair has crossed over from styled into greasy, and he’s certain that his cologne has long since faded away.</p><p>He could probably use a shower before showing up on Damon’s doorstep.</p><p>So they march back into the airport and up to a help desk where a dark-eyed young woman helps them find a room and directs them to where the hotel shuttle will pick them up. Thirty minutes later, they’re sharing a space that’s about the size of Louis’ living room, with a bathroom that he initially mistakes for a closet. But it’s dark and quiet, and Louis falls asleep immediately – on top of the covers and still fully clothed.</p><p>His only condition to agreeing to this plan was that they would set a wakeup call for six am, so that they could shower and dress and be out the door by seven. </p><p>Obviously jetlagged, Niall nods off again in the cab called by the airport hotel’s concierge, but Louis can’t shut his eyes. They aren’t on an especially exciting or beautiful route – asphalt and highway signs are about all he can see outside of his window – but he still can’t stop looking. The fluttering in his chest is what he tried to make himself feel for Philip and their life together, but even his proposal hadn’t genuinely thrilled him.</p><p>In the whole of their relationship, Louis decides, he hasn’t experienced as much excitement as he does simply boarding the practical passenger boat that will take him to one of the world’s most stunning cities. Despite a few hours of dreamless sleep, he’s so tired that he could drop, but anticipation alone keeps him standing tall, the beat of his heart drives his steps. </p><p>The ferry is filled with people, regardless of the early hour. It’s peak travel season, and Louis can see why. The water of the Venetian Lagoon is a deep turquoise – not see-through, like a postcard from the Caribbean, but rich and obscuring and probably much filthier. Regardless, it reflects a clear blue sky, and the speed of the boat creates a pleasant breeze. Louis estimates that the temperature is somewhere in the sixties, but the sun is still low. It’s shaping up to be a mild, gorgeous spring day – and most travelers wouldn’t sleep through that, whether they’re on business or not.</p><p>The sooner they can get to Damon’s hotel, the better.</p><p>They make a couple of wrong turns once they’re off of the water bus and in the city’s cobblestone streets. There aren’t many tourists around yet, but stores and cafes are opening up for the day, and Louis catches Niall staring longingly into a bakery. His own stomach gurgles urgently too, but it’ll have to wait. Everything can wait until after he catches his soulmate. There’s nothing as important to him now, not even basic human needs.</p><p>Blessedly, after one more hesitant right, the facade of the luxury hotel comes into view.</p><p>“I saw this place on <em>Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous,”</em> Niall marvels. “Burt Reynolds stayed here. We can’t afford it!”</p><p>Louis throws him a smile, then breaks into a jog, hearing Niall groan behind him and his footsteps coming reluctantly faster, along with the drag of his suitcase on the ancient road.</p><p>Louis sails through the sliding doors after a departing couple, ready to throw himself on the mercy of the reception desk. But there’s a woman ahead of him and only one employee checking people in. </p><p>Niall joins him a couple of seconds later, his breathing slightly labored. </p><p>“Is he here?” he asks, ridiculously. </p><p>His initial frustration at having to wait to speak to someone on staff dissipates as Louis surveys the elegant lobby. </p><p>There are men <em> everywhere.  </em></p><p>Men reading the morning paper and men sipping their coffee. Men in short-shorts and polos and men in tailored suits with impeccable lines. Tall and lean, short and sturdy, young and strong, distinguished and experienced. His eyes rove over all of them, and as he passes over each face, he wonders: <em> Is it you? Am I here for you? </em></p><p>Louis puffs out his chest while simultaneously arching his back, casually positioning his hand at his hip so his printed t-shirt slides up his backside. He lets his mouth fall into a slight, coy smile and his gaze become hooded. </p><p>“He is, I can feel it,” he says, a zip running through him when a man coming off of the elevator smiles back at him flirtatiously. “He could be looking at me right now.”</p><p>Niall must notice what he’s doing as soon as the woman at the desk moves on, because he yanks on Louis’ arm with a muttered “Jesus Christ.”</p><p>“Oh!” Louis exclaims, then settles his expression into what he hopes is a charming smile and returns the concierge’s “buongiorno.”</p><p>“Hi,” he continues. “Hi. Um, I’m wondering if you can tell me what room Mr. Bradley is staying in?”</p><p>Instead of consulting the guestbook in front of him like Louis expects him to, the concierge gives him an apologetic smile.</p><p>“Mi dispiace,” he says, as if this is the worst news he’ll have to deliver all day. “I’m sorry, Signor Bradley just checked out.”</p><p>Louis is so shocked that he laughs.</p><p>“No, that can’t be. He just checked in yesterday.”</p><p>“Sì, that is correct. His reservation was only for one night.”</p><p>Panic starts to build, but Louis tries to stay composed, friendly. He only knows that his energy has become outwardly frantic because of the way Niall tenses up next to him.</p><p>“Could you at least check?”</p><p>“I tell you, I just checked Signor Bradley out myself. He is gone.”</p><p>“Well, did he leave a forwarding address?” Louis hears the pitch of his voice rise. “The number of another hotel?”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” the man says, his demeanor closing up. “He did not. But even if he did, I am afraid we could not give that out.”</p><p>At this, Niall snaps. </p><p>“I don’t think you understand,” he says cooly, pointing a finger in the concierge’s face. “My friend here came a long way to find Mr. Bradley – in a middle seat in <em> coach </em> – and you’re going to give him some answers.”</p><p>But the man remains unmoved. Polite, but unmoved.</p><p>“Again, I am very sorry. I wish that I could help you, but I don’t know where Signor Bradley is.”</p><p>Niall closes his hand around Louis’, which is now shaking.</p><p>Could it really be that they flew halfway across the world, all for nothing?</p><p>No. This isn’t defeat. They’re in Italy, and Damon has to be here too. His trip is long enough that he wouldn’t have been back in time for the wedding. All they need to know is where he’s headed next.</p><p>Just then, another employee gets the attention of the concierge and asks him a question in Italian. </p><p>“Un momento,” he excuses himself, though he’s likely hoping they’ll just go away, then turns his back on them to help his colleague. As quietly as he can, Louis reaches across the desk and swivels the guestbook around so he can read it. </p><p><em> “Louis,” </em>Niall hisses, but his worry is misplaced. Louis quickly finds “Bradley” near the top of the previous day’s page, along with his room number: 29.</p><p>He arranges the guestbook back where he found it and tugs Niall away from the desk before the concierge turns back around.</p><p>“Where are we going?” Niall demands as they leave their bags right at the front entrance and weave through the increasingly crowded lobby. Louis walks with a purpose across the marble floors, no longer caring whether anyone in it finds him alluring.</p><p>“His room. There could be something in it that could help us.”</p><p>“What, like a clue? Thought we were trying to find this guy, not stalk him.”</p><p>Louis ignores him, bounding up the flight of stars at the far end of the hotel. He slows once they’re on the second floor, endeavoring to appear not to be someone the cleaning staff should be suspicious of. </p><p>But he almost gives himself away when he counts down to the door that has to be 29 and sees a housekeeper with an armful of linens vacating the room and disappearing down another hallway. Having controlled his urge to cheer, Louis speed-walks the rest of the distance, then uses his arm to flatten Niall against the wall so he can check to see if another housekeeper is inside. Niall’s “oof” goes unnoticed by anyone but him, because it seems as though Room 29 is half-serviced and, for the moment, totally empty. </p><p>Once he knows the coast is clear, Louis darts into the suite and starts surveying it, hoping to find anything useful that Damon might’ve left behind.</p><p>“I think this is Burt’s room!” Niall excitedly whispers, gawking at its luxe features and four-poster bed. “Ooh, he ordered breakfast. Thank god, I’m starving.”</p><p>He picks up a half-eaten croissant from a tray on the suite’s small dining table and shoves it shamelessly into his mouth. Then he offers a piece of hard cheese to Louis, who’s currently on all fours on the plush, carpeted floor. Louis shakes his head firmly, conscious that the housekeeper could come back at any second, then crawls halfway under the desk and slides out the wastebasket, dumping the contents out in front of him.</p><p>“Oh, good call,” Niall says around the pastry, dropping into a squat to help him. “Columbo always goes through the garbage.”</p><p>There isn’t much to go through, just some candy bar wrappers and a few slips of paper. Louis spreads them out on the floor with his palm, scanning them quickly for anything significant.</p><p>“Here!” he exclaims softly, pinching one small sheet between his thumb and forefinger and holding it up to his face. “A phone message.”</p><p>“We can find out who called. Hey, you’re really good at this.”</p><p>“I watch a lot of <em> Columbo</em>,” Louis says, scrambling to his feet and shoving the paper in his pocket. “Let’s go.”</p><p>They escape the room just in time, dashing out of sight before the housekeeper returns with fresh sheets. Louis pours over the slip as they make their way back to the gilded lobby, but it’s just a string of numbers. There’s no note of any kind, no actual message. </p><p>He still has hundreds of minutes on his calling card. But looking down on the first floor again, this time from the staircase, Louis can’t find a public phone of any kind. That leaves him with one good option…</p><p>“Hello again, buongiorno,” he says sweetly when they approach the desk for the second time. The same concierge regards him with suspicion.</p><p>“I was wondering if you could call this number for me and find out if Signor Bradley is there.”</p><p>The man takes the message in his stubby hand, and puts on the glasses that hang around his neck. “This number? Is it a business?”</p><p>“Well, we don’t know. But Signor Bradley told me to call him there.”</p><p>“This is a number in Roma. Un momento, I will try for you.”</p><p>The concierge picks up the receiver and dials, his fingers moving so slowly that Louis is tempted to reach across the desk again and plug in the numbers for him. Once that’s done, he leans back, crossing an arm across his middle and waiting for someone to pick up. </p><p>“Ah, ciao, ciao,” he begins after a few seconds, then shifts swiftly into rapid-fire Italian that Louis can’t follow, rusty from his time away.</p><p>He does clearly say the words “Damon Bradley,” at which Louis perks up. But there seems to be more than a yes/no answer coming from the person at the other end of the line.</p><p>“Sì....sì…” The concierge gives them a professional smile, oblivious to the role he occupies in the securing of Louis’ future happiness.</p><p>“Sì...sì, grazie.” </p><p>Niall makes eyes at Louis, acknowledging his palpable impatience.</p><p>After signing off from the conversation, the concierge places the receiver gently back in its cradle, then clears his throat, taking his good time.</p><p>Louis only just stops himself from throttling him.</p><p>“That was a store,” he says, at long last. “For men’s and ladies’ clothes, in Roma.”</p><p>“And Signor Bradley?”</p><p>“The woman I speak to, she says she doesn’t know him, but her friend does.”</p><p>“He went there. Niall, that’s where he went, that’s the only explanation.” Louis turns to face the desk again. “We have to go to Rome.”</p><p>“It’s not Venizia, but it is beautiful,” the concierge shrugs, as if trying not to take it personally.</p><p>“A train, that’s probably the fastest–”</p><p>“Eh, eh, eh,” the man interrupts. “I’m sorry, but there is a general strike today.”</p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>“A strike — the workers on the trains, the buses, they are not working. None of them running today. If you want to go to Rome, you’ll have to drive.”</p><p>And that’s how Niall and Louis end up puttering through the Italian countryside in a rental car roughly the size of a shoebox. </p><p>Louis didn’t drive when he studied abroad – there’d been no reason to. So it was entirely new to him to settle into a driver’s seat that’s on the right side of the car. The little vehicle’s controls and dashboard are just as confusing. Nothing is where it should be, and he feels every inch the well-earned stereotype of the clueless American.</p><p>Somehow, he got the thing started and pulled haltingly out of the tiny lot. Niall made as much sense of the map they’d been given as he could, and it seems now that they’re back in business – actively pursuing Louis’ destiny. </p><p>Louis wants to enjoy the countryside like he did in the cab, but he’s too busy concentrating on not driving them straight off a cliff and following Niall’s often last-second directions. The drive is over five hours, so they’ve been told, and he’s adamant that they don’t waste another minute of time. Not when Damon’s already slipped out his grasp twice.</p><p>So he keeps his eye on the horizon, completely missing the blinking light that must be angling for his attention before they run completely out of gas. </p><p>They’re just about to crest a hill when it happens. Louis keeps tapping forcefully on the gas, but the car only shudders forward, and it becomes horrifically apparent that they had been running on fumes. </p><p>“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he chants, gripping the wheel tightly and pushing the pedal to the floor. </p><p>But the ludicrous car – seriously, it’s like a toy – gives him nothing, just drifts to a solid and final stop, right in the middle of the road. </p><p>“Fuck,” Louis proclaims, still uselessly jamming the pedal.</p><p>“This thing must have the gas mileage of a Hot Wheels,” Niall says, incredulous. “Fucking Europe. You wouldn’t get this with a Ford.”</p><p>“Thank you, Uncle Sam. Do you have anything useful to contribute?”</p><p>Niall turns around completely in his seat, searching for any incoming traffic. Louis does the same using the review mirror.</p><p>They can still see a good deal of the long, winding road behind them, and it’s empty.</p><p>“I’d say we could push it, but I don’t remember seeing a gas station for miles.”</p><p>Louis falls back into his seat, beaten, and rubs his eyes with his fist. </p><p>“But hey, come on,” Niall’s tone perks up, and he jostles his shoulder cheerfully. “Someone has to come by eventually. Probably real soon. Let’s just leave a note and go stretch our legs. Won’t do any good sitting here crying about it.”</p><p>Trying not to despair, Louis nods once, grateful for Niall’s ability to remain practical among the chaos that he himself created. Grateful that he’s here with him at all, really. </p><p>He wouldn’t have even gotten this far alone, certainly.</p><p>He stays in the car and cuts the wheel as far as it’ll go to the right. Niall leans into it from the back, and together, they park it safely on the side of the road. Using the pen he stole from Damon’s room, Niall writes out the message “NEED GAS” in English and Italian – as dictated by Louis – in huge letters on the lid of the bakery box that’s storing the lunch they bought to-go, then secures it with the car’s front windshield wipers. </p><p>A few yards from the car, they find a stone wall that has to be at least a hundred years old overlooking a pastoral valley. The picture below them is composed of dozens of shades of soft green, dotted with the white and black of grazing sheep and goats. Not the worst place in the world to be stranded. Maybe they could make a go of it here, if they’re never rescued. Louis would miss his kids, but how hard could it really be to be a shepherd? It certainly has to be easier than this.</p><p>“Someone will come,” Niall repeats, ripping the crustiest piece of bread that Louis has ever laid eyes on in half and handing the rest to him. “We’re gonna make it, I promise. This is just a speed bump.”</p><p>“How do you know?”</p><p>“Whaddaya mean, how do I know? I know because I believe it. Didn’t think I’d ever been the one telling you to have a little faith.”</p><p>Louis takes a swig of chianti right out of the bottle, then passes it to Niall. It’s probably too early to drink, but what does it matter? His internal clock is fucked.</p><p>“I don’t know, Ni,” he says, and admitting it makes it real. “I feel like we’re losing him. Like <em> I’m </em>losing him. Every minute, he gets farther and farther away.”</p><p>“Hey, now. We know where he’s headed, and we’re not going to be stuck here forever. We’ll get back on track, you just wait and see.”</p><p>The sun beats down on Louis’ face. He doesn’t even know where he is, in any sense of the phrase. Yesterday, the gods dropped a sign into his lap. Today, it seems, they’re entertaining themselves by playing keep-away with it.</p><p>“I was embarrassed, you know?” he says after a beat, in which all they heard was wind rustling through the olive trees.</p><p>“Hm? ‘Bout what?”</p><p>“To tell you. You and Liam, that I still...thought about it. Him. Damon. I don’t know when exactly, but sometime in high school, I decided to stop bringing it up. It would’ve been the same as admitting that I slept with a stuffed animal or needed my mom to pick out my clothes. But then it was like, I was keeping this secret from everyone. I thought, maybe if I could act like I was over it, then I would be, eventually. But it never went away.”</p><p>Niall says nothing, his open expression urging Louis on.</p><p>“And you remembered,” Louis says, getting a flash of that split second in his apartment, what feels like decades ago. “After all these years. I saw it in your face when I was on the phone.”</p><p>Niall polishes off his portion of bread and brushes the crumbs off of his hands, an odd half-smile on his face.</p><p>“I never told you this, but I was jealous. Of the whole soulmate thing,” he says. Louis squints, and Niall hurriedly corrects himself. “Not of him. Of you.”</p><p>“Really? That’s funny, I didn’t think you ever believed in it.”</p><p>“I don’t even know if I do, to be honest. And it didn’t matter to me when we were kids. All I cared about was getting a Nintendo and hanging around with you guys. But we got older and I started to be interested in different stuff – people – and then I would think, okay, so what if soulmates <em> are </em>real? Then you got to know the answer. Know it all your life. You knew exactly who you were looking for, while I just flailed around and got my heart broken.”</p><p>“But I didn’t get him,” Louis reasons, kicking his heels against the stones. “He never came.”</p><p>“I know. But it felt like, just the fact that you asked meant that you were going to end up where you were supposed to be, no matter what the guy’s name was. You think you’re failing here, but that’s not what I see. Most people wouldn’t have had the balls to put themselves out there like this. That’s how I know you’re going to find him.”</p><p>A flame flickers inside Louis. It’s not much, but it could be, if he lets it.</p><p>“You’re going to find him, too. Whoever he is.”</p><p>“Ah, well, that’s the big question, isn’t it?” Niall tilts his head back and stares up into the clouds, avoiding Louis’ eyes. “Whoever it is, I hope he knows that <em> he’s </em> going to have to come looking for <em> me, </em>because I am exhausted.”</p><p>“Maybe you should take a break. When we get back, just don’t worry about dating for a while. Take some time for yourself.”</p><p>“I dunno. Sometimes I think I might be done. Like, for good.”</p><p>“What do you mean? For forever?”</p><p>Niall rolls his sleeves up to his shoulders, exposing his pale biceps to the midday sun.</p><p>“I just don’t have the motivation anymore,” he says, sounding decided and stoic. “The thought of another bar, another setup...It doesn’t make me happy, and isn’t that the point? I’m tired of chasing some mysterious person who probably doesn’t even exist. It’d be nice to be the one getting chased for a change.”</p><p>Louis hums in understanding, frustrated in his own way that forcing destiny’s hand has been so difficult – and pricey. </p><p>They fall into another companionable silence. </p><p>“I wonder what time it is in Pittsburgh,” he eventually says.</p><p>Niall lets the remark hover in the air for just long enough for Louis to retroactively deem it rhetorical.</p><p>“I don’t,” he decides.</p><p>When they walk back to check on the car, their plea for help has been replaced by a prayer card bearing an image of the Virgin Mary. Louis can smell the tang of gas, and spots some tell-tale drips in the dust near the screw-on fuel cap. </p><p>“Le...sorelle del sacro coor...cuo-ray?” Niall reads from the back of the card.</p><p>Louis turns the key in the ignition, and the car comes to glorious life.</p><p>“The Sisters of the Sacred Heart,” he smiles. “At least there’s one god up there watching out for us.”</p><p>*****</p><p>Liam realized something was wrong when Louis, a stickler for returning calls within the same day, didn’t answer his message about picking up the wedding flowers. </p><p>Then he called Niall, late in the morning, when he was always home getting ready for work. </p><p>He didn’t pick up.</p><p>But Liam doesn’t start to really worry in earnest until Sunday morning, when there’s still been no word from either of them.</p><p>He stops by Louis’ place first, knocking for a good thirty seconds before he decides that he’s within his rights to use the set of keys Louis gave him for emergencies.</p><p>The scene before him makes no sense. The apartment appears to be in order aside from the Post-It notes scattered all over the floor. Moving to the bedroom, he finds the bed made, but the closet open, empty hangers tilted diagonally upward as though Louis had pulled out clothes in a hurry. </p><p>Heading back out, he almost misses the note on the coffee table; it’s been placed almost entirely under a candlestick so it stays put.</p><p>“Sleeping at Niall’s tonight,” it reads. But it’s in Niall’s handwriting, not Louis’, and Liam knows – all of a sudden and without a doubt – that they’re up to something.</p><p>He also already knows that they won’t be there, but he tries Niall’s apartment complex next anyway. Then he drives straight to Philip’s office, remembering from Louis’ complaints about their cut-short weekends that he works for a few hours on Sundays. He takes a seat in the waiting room when the receptionist tells him that Dr. Dabrowski is with a patient, not realizing that he’s tapping his foot incessantly against the leg of his chair until she gives him a look.</p><p>When a middle-aged woman emerges from Philip’s office, Liam doesn’t wait for the surly receptionist to give him permission. He simultaneously knocks and opens the door, prompting Philip to turn from where he’s sitting at his desk and making notes on a chart. </p><p>“Liam, hello.” He’s clearly surprised to see his fiancé’s friend at his workplace. Come to think of it, Liam’s pretty sure they’ve never been alone in a room before. If Philip was around, Louis was too – they didn’t have a relationship that Louis wasn’t a part of.</p><p>“Hey. Sorry to barge in on you like this, but have you seen Louis this weekend?”</p><p>“Not yet,” Philip says easily. “But he’s been busy. Lots to do before the wedding.”</p><p>Liam frowns. </p><p>“But you’ve talked to him.”</p><p>Philip stops writing, and rubs a finger over his bottom lip. </p><p>“It had to be...Friday, I think. Yes, Friday, we spoke after he got home from work. And he stayed with Niall that night. I got called in, and I guess he didn’t want to be alone.”</p><p>“You haven’t seen or talked to Louis since Friday.”</p><p>“No, I suppose not.” Philip is still distressingly calm.</p><p>“Was he okay? Did he sound, I don’t know, weird?”</p><p>Philip considers this for a moment. “Maybe a little stressed from the planning, but no. He was just his normal, charming self.” He grins, cheesily, and Liam very nearly winces. “Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Philip, I don’t want to upset you, but I think they went somewhere. I think they left town.”</p><p>It’s crazy. He knows it’s crazy. But at the same time, Liam had felt it, in the weeks leading up to Louis’ wedding. Something was brewing, some restlessness, even though Louis continued saying the right things, taking on those duties that Philip seems to think aren’t also his responsibility, and accepting congratulations from anyone offering.</p><p>He had hoped, after seeing Louis’ light dim after Philip pulled him away at their engagement party, that they’d grow together over the next few months, like he and Winnie did before they got married. Sure, he’d experienced some panic in the clutch, but he pushed past it and went through with it. And it was the best choice he ever made. </p><p>Louis needed to settle, Liam had always thought. He didn’t watch to watch his friend push away anyone who didn’t meet every one of his ridiculously high standards. He didn’t want to see him end up alone – especially because Louis was <em> made </em>to be in love, absolutely designed for it.</p><p>“They probably went to a movie,” Philip says, rising from his little swivel chair to give Liam a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Or to the mall. It’s a lot of pressure pulling off a wedding, Lou-Lou just needed a little R &amp; R, that’s all.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Liam tries again. “This feels...it feels like more than that. Like maybe we should do something.”</p><p>Philip laughs a little at what he evidently deems an overreaction.</p><p>“Like what? Call the police? You’re a good friend for worrying.” He steps slowly forward, smiling as he crowds Liam back out into the reception area. “But if Louis wants space, he can take it. Everything’s fine, trust me. I’ll let you know as soon as he calls. Scout’s honor.” He holds up two fingers in a goofy salute, and Liam leaves, Philip’s untroubled reaction making him realize three things before he even hits the parking lot.</p><p>One: Philip either doesn’t know Louis at all, or he’s stubbornly trying to mould him into someone else. Thinking back on the whole venue debacle – how Louis had pasted on a smile and thrown himself into their country club wedding – he’d bet on the latter.</p><p>Two: Philip also doesn’t know or is ignoring that if anyone were to help Louis pull a last-minute escape act, it would be Niall.</p><p>And three: If Louis doesn’t marry Philip in the end, Liam wouldn’t mind at all.</p><p>Wherever they are, he thinks as he gets back into his truck, he only hopes that they’re being careful.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Niall and Louis must stand out from the boutique’s regular clientele, with their bags dragging behind them and dust from the dirt road in their hair.</p><p>Louis can tell immediately that even the smallest item they sold would be out of his price range. It’s the kind of shop that’s curated to within an inch of its life, just a handful of flawless garments hang on each rack, setting it apart from the crowded and disorganized designer discount warehouse where he usually splurges.</p><p>That Damon is known here, though...it’s not hard to imagine a different kind of lifestyle for himself.</p><p>Niall had wanted to find an affordable hotel and at least drop their things after they returned the rental car to the company’s closest Rome outpost. But Louis wouldn’t hear of it – couldn’t hear of it – not when he’s missed Damon so narrowly twice before.</p><p>Hence, Niall is still pouting when they approach the sales counter, which is manned by a man about their age, with shoulder-length, blond-tipped hair and a goatee.</p><p>“Buongiorno,” he greets them. He doesn’t show any surprise or distaste at the sight of them, surely thanks to his impeccable sales manners. “Cosa posso fare per lei?”</p><p>“Parla inglese?” Louis asks.</p><p>“Sì, yes – a little.”</p><p>“Yes!” Louis celebrates. “Yes, good. We’re looking for someone named Alesso.”</p><p>The man touches his hand to his chest and reveals a more personal, curious smile. “I am Alesso.”</p><p>“Oh that’s <em> wonderful,” </em>Louis grins, holding out his hand and shaking Alesso’s somewhat wildly. “I’m Louis. You don’t know how happy I am to meet you. I’m trying to find someone else, a man, and I’m hoping that you may know him.”</p><p>Alesso nods, confused but evidently happy to help.</p><p>“Damon Bradley?”</p><p>His face falls.</p><p>“Damon Bradley,” Alesso repeats, cold.</p><p>“You know him?”</p><p>Louis then watches in horror as the sales clerk’s expression twists into fury. Alesso bursts out into a flurry of angry Italian, hands chopping through the air as he speaks.</p><p>“Uh oh,” Niall says.</p><p>Alesso doesn’t acknowledge that, clearly, neither of them are following his impassioned rant.</p><p>“What’s he saying?” Niall asks, leaning into Louis, who is baffled.</p><p>“Something about a pig,” Louis mutters, digging in his pocket for the guidebook and its dictionary section.</p><p>“Spetta, spetta,” another voice says, quieting the upset clerk. “Tranquilla.”</p><p>It belongs to a tall man in a flawless beige suit he was probably fitted for in this very store. He must be the boss, Louis thinks, even though he appears to be a couple of years younger than Alesso, with waves of thick, dark brown hair sweeping his forehead and a youthful, unpracticed way about his movements. </p><p>The man puts a calming arm around the clerk, who finally pauses for breath while still managing to look murderous.</p><p>“Can I help you?” he asks Louis and Niall, in an accent that’s certainly not Italian but probably not American either.</p><p>“Please,” Louis says on an exhale.</p><p>“Yes, thank you,” Niall adds. “We’re just trying to find out about a guy named Damon Bradley. And we were told that Alesso here might know where we can find him.”</p><p>The man purses his lips seriously, like this isn’t a completely random request that set his employee off on a tirade.</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>He turns to Alesso and speaks to him in quiet Italian. Alesso doesn’t raise his voice again, but his answer is delivered in clipped tones. Tears come to his eyes near the end of it, and then he rushes towards the back of the store without excusing himself.</p><p>The manager gives them an apologetic look. </p><p>“I’m sorry for Alesso–” Niall and Louis shake their heads in understanding “–He was supposed to meet Mr. Bradley tonight, at Galeazzi ristorante in Santa Maria de Trastavere for his regular reservation. But, um, it seems that Alesso has a...prior commitment.”</p><p>“<em> Perfect,” </em>Louis breathes, ecstatic. Niall elbows him, probably because it’s a little insensitive to whatever romantic predicament is being obscured by the phrase “a prior commitment.” Louis is sorry for him theoretically, but not in practice.</p><p>Damon will be alone tonight, and now he knows where.</p><p>“He means ‘thank you,’” Niall says ruefully. The corner of the man’s mouth turns upwards, amused.</p><p>“Yes, thank you,” Louis repeats, gathering up his bags again. “That’s all we needed to know. Thank you so much.”</p><p>He starts for the door, but Niall remains at the counter, called back by the helpful manager.</p><p>“You must need a place to stay.” He gestures at their bags.</p><p>“Well, yeah,” Niall says, brushing something invisible from his front, less annoyance in his voice now. “As a matter of fact…”</p><p>“I think I can help.”</p><p>Louis watches from the door as the manager reaches for Niall’s hand, raises it to his lips, and then kisses his knuckles.</p><p>“I’m Shawn. Piacere di conoscerti.”</p><p>“Oh...hi,” Niall says stupidly. “Sorry, what does that mean?”</p><p>“It’s a pleasure to meet you. And you are?”</p><p>“Niall.”</p><p>“Niall.” Shawn savors it, but not in a creepy way. “There’s a beautiful little pensione very close. I can show you.”</p><p>“Ni,” Louis hisses. “Let’s go!”</p><p>When Niall whips around to tell him to shut up, his cheeks are pink.</p><p>Shawn comes around from behind the counter and touches Niall’s elbow. Still in a hurry but now smiling to himself, Louis turns around and walks out of the store a few steps ahead of them, figuring that Shawn will let him know if he goes the wrong way.</p><p>But the streets are busy, and he doesn’t want to get lost, so he can’t stray too far. He hears, therefore, Shawn telling Niall that he came to Italy from Toronto after high school to care for an ill grandparent and never left, even after she died. He had built a life in Rome and eventually rose up the ranks to manage the boutique where he was first hired as a part-time stock boy. </p><p>“That’s what I do too,” Niall says. “Well, not a place like that. Just your average, American department store.”</p><p>“Small world. And is this your first time in Italy?”</p><p>Niall must nod.</p><p>“Then I’m officially jealous. There’s nothing like seeing it for the first time. What brings you here?”</p><p>Louis slows his steps to make sure he can hear Niall’s response. Neither Louis’ mission nor Niall’s role in it is easily explained to a stranger; anyway – he’s just realized – neither of them seems to remember that he’s even there.</p><p>“Just a little vacation, really,” Niall lies, to Louis’ relief. “Last-minute trip before the wedding.” </p><p>Louis glances back in time to see Shawn’s eyes widen in surprise and the roller bag he had insisted on taking get caught between paving stones, causing him to lose control of the handle and the whole thing to fall to the ground with a smack. </p><p>“Oh!” he says in strained cheerfulness as he rescues the luggage. “Congratulations! Having the honeymoon before you get married, is that an American tradition I missed?”</p><p>“What?” Niall sounds stricken, then recovers when he realizes the miscommunication. “No, sorry, <em> Louis </em>is engaged. To someone else. Not to me. Aren’t ya, pal?”</p><p>Louis turns around and gives them a dutiful if unconvincing smile. Shawn acknowledges him for a moment, but after one polite tilt of his head, his attention is fully back on Niall.</p><p>“Isn’t that exciting?” he says, and Louis doesn’t have to guess which part of the story he’s talking about.</p><p>Meanwhile, the Pensione Divino Amore is just as lovely as Shawn promised it would be.</p><p>The three of them enter through a small courtyard crawling with vines and pink roses in heavy stoneware pots and furnished with wrought iron patio chairs and tables that have to be decades old. There’s a fountain in the center – a statue of a nude woman pouring from a jug – and the flow of the water sounds like soft music. The small hotel is just off of a busy street, but the greenery provides a cozy sense of privacy, not to mention romance. It doesn’t have the scale, the stateliness, or the – hopefully – the price tag of the Londra Palace, but Louis can see it.</p><p>He can see himself falling in love here.</p><p>Observing the way their self-appointed tour guide is looking at his best friend after knowing him for ten minutes – like he’s about to walk out of his life for good and Shawn is going to go home and write a very depressing poem about it – Louis wonders if Niall can see it too.</p><p>“Marcello?” Shawn pokes his head into the building, and a hotel employee comes out to greet them. Shawn continues to speak to the man in Italian; Louis can make out the words for “my friends” and “best rooms.”</p><p>After shaking Shawn’s hand, the concierge shouts a command back into the lobby. A bell boy materializes to hustle the bags out of their arms. </p><p>“Come, come!” the concierge says, “Benvenuti alla Pensione Divino Amore.”</p><p>Beyond pleased with the whole vibe of the place, Louis follows the concierge inside, sweeping his eyes over a hotel that’s a little shabbier but clearly more loved and lived in than the last one they visited. </p><p>Character, Louis thinks. That’s what the Venice hotel was missing. He’d always imagined Damon as someone who’d prefer staying in a place like this – somewhere authentic and welcoming. Then again, he was on a business trip. He probably had no say in the matter.</p><p>Still, Louis likes Shawn for suggesting this one, even though the man clearly hasn’t given him a second thought. He wouldn’t have been totally surprised if he had wrestled the bellboy for the privilege of taking Niall’s suitcase up to his room.</p><p>“Thank you for walking us. You didn’t need to do that.”</p><p>Louis isn’t trying to listen, but they’re just outside, and the concierge is still searching a wall of heavy brass keys for the ones he wants.</p><p>“Ah, but Rome is known for its hospitality,” Shawn says. “So I actually kinda did.”</p><p>Niall laughs – the one only his closest friends would recognize as his acutely self-aware one.</p><p>“Okay, Signor–” </p><p>Louis puts a finger to his lips, silently hushing the concierge.</p><p>“Anyway,” Shawn continues. “I have to go on an overnight buying trip to Naples tonight. This incredible leather artisan – he has to be at least a hundred. I’d postpone, but he’s been known to blacklist stores that cancel on him, and we’re running low on wallets.”</p><p>“Can’t have that,” Niall says warmly.</p><p>“But if you’ll still be here when I get back,” Shawn continues, slowly, “which I hope you will, I’d love to show you some of my city.”</p><p>The concierge, also raptly listening now, knows enough English to wink at a fully delighted Louis.</p><p>“You would?”</p><p>“I really would.”</p><p>“Oh…” Niall sounds dubious, and Louis blames the male population of Pittsburgh, who, all added up together, couldn’t match the guy he’s talking to now for looks and charm. How dare they, honestly? “Well, you know where to find me.”</p><p>“Addio per ora, then, Niall.” There’s a beat of silence; Louis guesses Shawn kissed his hand again, which...wow. “That means ‘goodbye for now.’”</p><p>“What’s that you were saying about being done with men...forever, was it?” Louis asks innocently as they walk down the hall to their respective rooms.</p><p>“I hate you,” Niall states, turning his key in the lock. The tips of his ears are glowing red. “I hate you, and I’m taking a nap. Wake me up when it’s time to eat.”</p><p>*****</p><p>The evening, when it finally comes, is clear and crisp as a slice of fresh apple. And Louis feels sharper too, having – without guilt – slept the day away and then taken his good time getting ready. They weren’t here to sightsee after all, and neither he nor Niall had had a real night of rest for days. </p><p>He even comes to the realization, halfway through a long, hot shower, that things were always meant to work out like this. Damon would be drawn to him no matter what, certainly, but tonight he’s ready. Really ready, not the frantic mess he would have been at the airport or even in Venice, after briefly closing his eyes on what basically amounted to a cot.</p><p>Tonight Louis is focused, the fuzziness behind his eyes gone and jetlag held at bay. His cheeks and neck are smooth and he smells like a combination of the hotel’s complimentary juniper body lotion, which he slathered everywhere he could reach, and his signature spicy scent. And he had dressed carefully, splurging for the hotel to press his slim cut white shirt and black suit with a delicate but fashion-forward speckle pattern – the one he’d spent a whole two weeks’ paycheck on for Liam’s wedding and had barely worn since. </p><p>Despite leaving it off of his own hurried list, Niall had savvily packed it, plus the suit Louis was meant to wear to his own rehearsal dinner. </p><p>And the cost of the pressing was negligible, since the room he was given is clearly worth more than they were charged.</p><p>Score two for Nialler. </p><p>Louis is using a tiny hair dryer and dot of gel to sweep his hair up and away from his face when there’s a knock at the door. He opens it to his best friend, who’s also looking sharp in a grey suit over a grey, white, and blue knit polo, and holding a miniature bottle of red wine from his minibar.</p><p>“Take the edge off?” he tempts with a grin, and Louis is fairly confident that he’s forgiven for teasing him about Shawn.</p><p>He lets him in, and a minute later, Niall sets a glass on the bathroom counter, where Louis is doing his final preparations.</p><p>As he runs out of products to use and tweaks to make, a heavy, inevitable feeling sits on his chest. Looking at him in the mirror, Niall can see it happening – the weight of what Louis is about to do setting in. </p><p>Whatever he learns tonight, he’ll never be able to un-know.</p><p>When he meets Damon, the daydreaming and the wishing and the wondering will stop, and all he’ll be left with is the truth.</p><p>It’s a lot to process.</p><p>“Hey,” Niall says carefully, picking up the glass again and holding it out for Louis to take. “Whatever happens, you’re gonna be okay. You know that, right?”</p><p>Louis stops futzing with the one strand of hair that won’t stay in place and accepts the offering. </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”</p><p>The alcohol doesn’t quiet his nerves completely, but it does make Louis ever so slightly more confident – confident enough to not hesitate once they climb out of the cab in front of the restaurant, whose outdoor section spills right out into the piazza. He walks right into the patio area, holding his chin high in case anyone – that one anyone – happens to be watching</p><p>He and Niall are intercepted by a white-haired waiter, who asks, while holding up two fingers, if they’d like a “tavola per due.”</p><p>“Sì,” Niall answers for them.</p><p>The waiter leads them to a two-top and gestures for them to sit, then produces a candle lighter from the apron around his waist to ignite the two votives flanking the bread basket.</p><p>He continues asking questions, about water, wine, and menus, to which Niall answers “sì,” whether or not they’re of the yes/no construction. But he seems to be handling it fine, and Louis is preoccupied by, again, scouting a sea of people, both inside and outside the crowded, classic ristorante, and waiting to feel something undeniable – a spark.</p><p>“So, what are you waiting for?” Niall says in a hushed tone, once the waiter hurries away to fetch their drinks. “Go talk to the maitre’d, he’s right there.”</p><p>Louis positions his chair so that the back of it is against the iron fencing and he’s more visible to the other diners.</p><p>“I just wanted to see if he would notice me first,” he says through a self-conscious smile.</p><p>
  <em> “What?” </em>
</p><p>“I thought maybe he might notice me first,” Louis reiterates, sheepishly this time.</p><p>“Unbelievable,” Niall mutters, incredulous. “Are you kidding me with this? Now is not the time to play hard to get.”</p><p>“I can’t, Ni, I’m too nervous,” Louis starts to whine. “Will you do it?”</p><p>“Me?”</p><p>“Yes, please? Just really quickly, ask if he’s here.”</p><p>“Alright, alright.”</p><p>Niall pushes back his chair and approaches the host stand, just a few yards away, right in the door of the actual restaurant. </p><p>Louis bites his lip as he briefly converses with the maitre’d, and almost as soon as he’s left, Niall is back.</p><p>“He’s here.”</p><p>“Niall, oh my god.”</p><p>“Just stay calm. He’s here, and he’s in that right-hand corner inside, black jacket. If you just lean back–” Niall tugs on his shoulder until Louis is flat against the back of his chair. “–you can see a little bit of his right elbow.”</p><p>Louis squints, and he can. </p><p>He can see it: bent on the table, it’s the most beautiful elbow he’s ever seen. The elbow of his soulmate. An elbow written in the stars, just for him. </p><p>“And,” Niall continues, soberly, “he’s alone.”</p><p>Louis lets out an involuntary whimper.</p><p>“So I should...I should just go introduce myself, right?” he pats his hair, gobsmacked that the moment’s actually arrived.</p><p>“Yeah,” Niall laughs, gently. “You didn’t come four thousand miles to watch him eat veal piccata through glass.”</p><p>Louis steels himself, siphoning off a bit of strength from Niall’s triumphant expression.</p><p>“It’s now or never.”</p><p>“Now or never,” Niall repeats, with a nod. “You got this.”</p><p>With that, Louis rises to his feet. He tugs down his jacket and licks his lips, and then he’s moving through the busy establishment. </p><p>Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have the same idea at the same time. First, he gets caught behind an elderly woman being lowered gently into her seat by a younger man. Then, a middle-aged couple insists on exiting the restaurant side-by-side, leaving no room for Louis to enter and giving him superior looks when he tries.</p><p>He dodges a busboy with waters and a waiter with a round of desserts. There’s so much activity that Louis can’t see exactly where he’s going, Damon’s table blocked by staff and diners.</p><p>But he’s close. He knows he’s close. </p><p>Side-stepping a man rocking a crying baby as he heads outside to quiet it, Louis steps right into the path of another waiter, causing him to drop his entire tray of entrees with a tremendous clatter.</p><p>Whole cooked fish, creamy pasta dishes, and roasted vegetables sides spill out onto the floor, and it’s as though a bomb has gone off in the restaurant.</p><p>“I’m sorry!” Louis yells, surprised, as the commotion almost engulfs him. Diners leap to their feat to help, the other waiters begin talking a mile a minute and gesturing wildly. Louis feels awful, he does, but there’s too little room for that emotion for him to stop. The prospect of Damon on the other side of it keeps calling him forward, but as the corner comes into view, it’s revealed to be empty.</p><p>The remnants of a meal and wine for one are still at the table, but the bill has been signed and the chair pushed back. </p><p>“No!” Louis cries. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of black material.</p><p>He rushes to the window.</p><p>“Niall!” he yells, and it’s barely disruptive, thanks to the scene he’s already created.</p><p>Niall hears him though, his neck snapping up. </p><p>Louis makes a “come on” gesture and then takes off in the direction the Damon exited – not on the piazza side, but through the restaurant’s side street entrance.</p><p>“No, no, please!” he calls, to no one in particular, once he’s out on the cobblestones. </p><p>It’s darker in this part of the city, away from the twinkling string lights circling the patio’s table umbrellas, but Louis thinks that he sees Damon’s head and shoulders at the top of the alley. So he dashes that way, trying not to plow into other pedestrians but coming close anyway. </p><p>His lungs are starting to burn, and his shoes are not made for this kind of activity; still, Louis can’t stop. He can’t let his destiny get away for the third time in as many days. He doesn’t know how to explain this to Philip or to go back to his life at all if he does.</p><p>That’s the only thought in his head when he misjudges the space he has to dart through and glances shoulders with a man strolling down the street, nearly spinning him completely around. </p><p>“I’m sorry!” Louis tosses back, just as one of his cheaply made loafers slides off of his foot.</p><p>“Signor!” a deep voice follows him. “Aspetta! La tua scarpa!”</p><p>But he barely registers it – not the shoe, not the shouting. Desperately, Louis yanks his other loafer off between steps and continues running with it in his hand, finding it easier that way. </p><p>By that time, however, he’s reached his dead end.</p><p>His pursuit of Damon, who he hadn’t glimpsed since just outside of Galleazzi, ends with Louis right back in Santa Maria del Trastavere. Even on a miserable night, it would be crawling with tourists. His feet slow to a pathetic slap against the pavement, as he realizes it, eyes darting around the expansive square.</p><p>He’s gone.</p><p>Niall, thank god, is not.</p><p>His best friend stops pacing nervously when he sees Louis, then, seeing his face, melts into disappointment.</p><p>“Oh, no.”</p><p>“Again,” Louis manages to say as he crumbles. “I lost him again.”</p><p>“C’mere,” Niall says, pulling Louis into a quick hug. He feels the loafer between them, held against Louis’ stomach, then holds him at arm’s length to investigate.</p><p>“What happened to your shoe?”</p><p>“I don’t <em> know,” </em>Louis wails, his throat thickening.</p><p>“Okay, you know what? Let’s sit down. Let’s just sit down for a minute.”</p><p>Niall puts an arm around his shoulders and leads him to the lip of a fountain, whose historic beauty neither one of them can appreciate right now.</p><p>Louis sniffles, and Niall rubs his back, looking at him with concern.</p><p>He’s really lost it now. Might as well go all in.</p><p>“I know what we can do,” Louis says, with feeling, once the idea comes to him. “We’ll get a truck or a car – doesn't matter – and a big speaker, and then we’ll just...we’ll drive around and we’ll page him, and–”</p><p>“Scuzi, scuzi,” a vaguely familiar person calls, seemingly to them, from out of the crowd. </p><p>Louis looks away from Niall to see that his lost shoe is being returned to him. </p><p>“Cinderella, tua scarpa,” says the man presenting it to him with a polite flourish. “Hai lasciato cadere questo.”</p><p>“Oh, wow, thank you,” Niall says. Louis wipes his nose on his sleeve.</p><p>“Ah, Americans!” the man replies, revealing a crooked grin. “Allow me.”</p><p>He reaches into his pocket of his stylishly baggy pants and pulls out a shoe horn like he’s in the business of rescuing people who lose their footwear in ancient cities, then drops to his knees in front of Louis. Digging into a pocket in his black, hip-length jacket – also on the quirkier side of trendy – he whips out a buffing cloth, then then snaps it, his eyes lingering curiously on Louis’ face.</p><p>“Please,” he says, holding out his hand and nodding towards the shoe in Louis’ lap.</p><p>Louis doesn't move, so Niall hands it to him.</p><p>“So what do you think?” Louis says, turning from the strange man and looking back at Niall. “About the truck?”</p><p>But Niall’s distracted, watching the stranger shine Louis’s loafers.</p><p>“That’s kind of sweet, huh?” He taps Louis’ side with his elbow.</p><p>“Sweet” isn’t the word Louis would use. “Unnecessary” would be more accurate. “Unwelcome,” maybe. He <em> is </em>trying to have a private conversation. </p><p>He lowers his chin again and fixes the stranger with a severe look, hoping he’ll take the hint that Louis is in no mood for gallantry right now. </p><p>But the man only stares back at him strangely, and being the focus of his freaky intensity makes the back of Louis’ neck feel hot and itchy. The stranger’s hands still momentarily, as though he just remembered something he forgot.</p><p>His pronounced jawline and big green eyes give him a sort-of froggy appearance. </p><p>It’s not unattractive. </p><p>“Thank you,” Louis says pointedly. Niall <em>tsks </em>at his rudeness.</p><p>But the man ignores his clear dismissal.</p><p>“Size nine, am I right?” he says, all confidence. “No wonder you stepped right out of them. Why are you wearing a nine-and-a-half?”</p><p>“They were on sale,” Louis defends himself, then frowns. “Wait, how did you know that?”</p><p>“It’s kind of what I do. ‘M in the shoe business.” The stranger blows an imaginary piece of dirt from one of the loafers and beckons Louis to hold out his foot. Too confused to think twice about it, Louis straightens his knee.</p><p>“These are a pretty decent Gucci knockoff, manufactured in New Jersey. I know the family. Good product. But if you ever want the real thing, I can get you a deal.”</p><p>Louis knew he’d learn something new this evening. Just, instead of what his soulmate actually looks like, it’s how weirdly intimate it feels to have a stranger cradling his socked foot in public.</p><p>The man dangles the loafer on Louis’ toe, then returns his foot to the ground, using the shoe horn to finish the job. The shoe feels much more secure; Louis tries to lift his heel out to prove it to himself.</p><p>“I put in some sizers,” the man says, quite pleased with himself.</p><p>This interaction is getting odder by the second. When did <em> that </em>happen? Was he dealing with some kind of magician-slash-cobbler?</p><p>“You just had them on you, did ya?” Louis says, incredulous.</p><p>“I told you, ‘m in the biz.” The stranger repeats the action with the other shoe. Then he claps his hands to his sides, satisfied with his work.</p><p>“There! Now you can go back to the ball, dance all night.”</p><p>With that, Louis sees himself through this overly friendly American’s eyes.</p><p>He’s young, attractive, well-dressed, and in Rome. There <em> should </em>be a ball to go to, and he should be headed there – not sulking on damp stone with one snotty shirt cuff.</p><p>It sets him off crying again, to the man’s evident horror.</p><p>“Oh no, are you okay?” He reaches out towards Louis’ shin, but stops short before touching him, then looks to Niall for help. “Is he okay?”</p><p>“He’ll be fine,” Niall says.</p><p>“Forget the truck!” Louis suddenly gasps, causing them both to jump. “I know what I’ll do. I’ll just open my book and call every hotel in Rome until I find him. It already worked once. Why wouldn’t it again?”</p><p>Revived, he hops to his feet and brushes past the man, heading in what he thinks is the direction of their own pensione.</p><p>He expects Niall to follow, of course, but he quickly realizes he has two tails.</p><p>“Really, though, is your friend alright? Because he seems–”</p><p>“Oh yeah, he’s fine. He’s perfect,” Niall says wearily, walking swiftly to keep up with Louis. “He’s looking for the man of his dreams, who’s apparently around here somewhere. But he’s never seen him and has no way of contacting him and somehow, he’s dragged me into all of this. So if that’s ‘alright,’ to you, then yes: Louis is just peachy.”</p><p>“So that’s why he tried to sack me back there.”</p><p>Louis tosses back a look that’s half apologetic, half annoyance. </p><p>“Look, I know it’s none of my business–” Louis scoffs, and the man pretends not to hear him. “–but if he’s never met the guy, then how does he know he’s the one?” </p><p>Louis walks with more purpose, tossing his hair indignantly.</p><p>“He’s famous, right?” the stranger continues, still plying Niall. “Movie star, soccer player...opera singer?”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“Then how…?”</p><p>“He got his name off of a Ouija board when he was nine years old.”</p><p>“Huh.”</p><p>“Taxi!” Louis calls once they intersect with a main road. A cab pulls over for him almost immediately. “Taxi!”</p><p>“Hey, hey, hey, wait,” the man says, stepping in between Louis and the door. “Maybe I can help here. I come to Rome for business, I have a friend who works at the embassy…”</p><p>They’re almost chest to chest, and his closeness is too overwhelming for Louis to deal with on top of everything else.</p><p>“I’d really rather just handle it myself, thank you.” </p><p>He reaches around the man and pulls the door open. </p><p>“What’s his name?” the man asks, holding the door with his body. “Let me at least look into it for you.”</p><p>“I don’t know why you can’t just let it go, it’s really not your prob–”</p><p>“Why won’t you tell me his name?” the stranger interrupts. “Maybe nothing will come of it, but if you’re so hot for this guy...I mean, you never know.”</p><p>Louis huffs, frustrated. If that’s what it takes to get away from here and to a working phone, fine.</p><p>“Damon Bradley.”</p><p>“I–” The green-eyed man knits his brow together, his mouth dropping slightly open. “<em> I’m </em>Damon Bradley.”</p><p>The last thing Louis remembers before everything goes black is Damon’s arms flying out to catch him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Louis comes to with the back of his skull resting on something that’s both hard and soft.</p><p>For a moment, he’s forgotten where he is – expects to discover that he fell asleep on his couch again, the insufficiently padded arm causing the crick in his neck. </p><p>But he blinks his eyes open to find nothing but a sparkling navy above him, the stars looking remarkably close, like he could reach out and take one for himself if he had a ladder.</p><p>He’d never make it though. His muscles feel heavy and confused, as though he were wading through water, weighted down by wet clothes.</p><p>He manages to tilt his chin downward to see the tips of his loafers and registers that he’s sprawled out flat on something that’s not the ground.</p><p>When he looks straight up again, the encroaching stars have been replaced by a gigantic face that’s at least half dimple.</p><p>“There you are,” the face says.</p><p><em> Damon </em>says.</p><p>He’s one to talk. Louis isn’t the one that’s been MIA for the past 16 years.</p><p>“Whoa, careful.” Damon puts his hands gently on Louis’ shoulders – the hard and soft thing he’s using as a pillow is Damon’s <em> thigh </em> – and keeps Louis from shooting upwards. “Take it slow.”</p><p>Oh, but it’s way too late for that. </p><p>Louis can’t wait to get another look at him. Here. <em> Real. </em>A lifetime of alternately hoping and talking himself out of those hopes made flesh.</p><p>Damon repositions his hands so they’re bracing Louis’ back and helps him sit up. Louis swings his feet to the ground a little too quickly and one of the stars bursts in front of his eyes. </p><p>“Heeeey, hey.” </p><p>With Damon’s arm around his shoulder, Louis steadies himself and takes a deep breath, determined not to pass out again.</p><p>But then he glances to his right, and Damon’s head is next to his. He’s wearing a warm half-smile, his eyes soft and searching. </p><p>Louis’ heart stutters.</p><p>Something clicks into place.</p><p>“Hi,” he says.</p><p>“Hi,” Damon says back.</p><p>Louis should say something else, but nothing comes immediately to mind. Damon removes his arm, and they continue to smile stupidly at one another, letting their extraordinary fortune wash over them. </p><p>In the back of his mind, however, Louis is involuntarily retracing their steps, his subconscious trying to fill in the blanks that brought him here, to this bench.</p><p>“Niall!” he yelps suddenly. “My friend, where–?”</p><p>“He went to get you some water,” Damon soothes. “It’s okay, I promised him I wouldn’t kidnap you or anything. He’ll be back any minute now.”</p><p>“Oh. That’s good.”</p><p>Silence falls again. Damon, who had been so chatty when they first met, seems to be at a loss for words.</p><p>“Thank you,” Louis says hurriedly, realizing with shame that he hasn’t done this yet. “For taking care of me, I mean. I’m so embarrassed.”</p><p>“That’s not–” Damon waves off the apology. “My friends at home, they keep saying, ‘What do you expect? The man of your dreams isn’t just gonna fall out of the sky.’” He glances at Louis, almost shy now. “Joke’s on them, I guess.”</p><p>Louis feels a flush coat his cheeks. He’d been so sure that he was prepared – that he could stare his destiny right in the face without flinching. </p><p>But nobody told him that destiny could be so disarming, or that the tone of his voice could prompt something long dormant to unfurl in Louis’ belly.</p><p>“I’m probably keeping you from something. You’re here for work, aren’t you?”</p><p>A wrinkle appears between Damon’s eyebrows, but it’s gone just as quickly.</p><p>“Oh. Yeah, but I’m not working tonight. I was just out for a walk – no particular destination.”</p><p>“Seems to me you were exactly where you needed to be,” Louis flirts, almost fully recovered.</p><p>“See, it’s funny, because I’m usually in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Damon smiles. “My luck must be changing.”</p><p>With his elbow on the back of the bench, his hand is at Louis’ eye level and moving closer, as if to brush his hair back. Louis usually doesn’t let anyone but Michel at his Vidal Sassoon touch the top of his head, but he’s more than willing to make this exception.</p><p>In that moment, Niall appears over Damon’s shoulder carrying a glass bottle of water in one hand and a clean dish towel in another. </p><p>“My wallet!” Louis blurts out, to Damon’s immediate confusion. “Did I lose my wallet?”</p><p>Damon folds forward at Louis’ exclamation, searching the pavement for anything that might have fallen out of his pocket. </p><p><em> “I’m fine,” </em> Louis mouths to Niall, then jerks his head to the side to indicate that he should leave them alone. <em> “Thank you,” </em>he adds, putting a hand to his heart, because Jesus, does Niall deserve it.</p><p>Niall, bless him again, salutes with the dish towel and backtracks, disappearing out of sight before Damon finishes his investigation.</p><p>“I don’t see anything,” he frowns. “Maybe it’s back where you fainted, I’ll–” </p><p>“Silly me, it’s right here,” Louis says, patting his pocket, bidding Damon to sit back down. “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if Niall didn’t come back right away.”</p><p>“Really?” Damon looks concerned.</p><p>“Yeah, he’s got a boyfriend here. Nice guy, works at a boutique. Probably snuck off to see him.”</p><p>“That’s weird.”</p><p>“It <em> is </em>weird, Damon,” Louis says emphatically. “I agree. But I feel much better. So maybe we...I dunno, we could finish that walk I interrupted?</p><p>“Sure,” Damon says, again looking at Louis like he’s not convinced he’s actually there. “If you’re up for it. But can I ask you just one question first?”</p><p>“God, of course. Anything.”</p><p>“What’s your name?”</p><p>Louis looks down at the space between their thighs and takes Damon’s hand.</p><p>Damon’s fingers curl around his, and it feels momentous.</p><p>“Louis. I’m Louis.”</p><p>*****</p><p>If someone were to have told Louis that he actually died twenty minutes ago, not just swooned like he did in AP biology the day they dissected a fetal pig, he would have thought they made a good case. Because strolling through Rome on a storybook night, arm-in-arm with his soulmate, is pure heaven. </p><p>Louis knew he would feel the attraction, but he couldn’t have predicted that Damon would be the kind of handsome that no one could argue with, all big, expressive features and undeniable appeal. Nor could he have guessed that his destiny would be so exactly his type: tall and the lean kind of muscular, with a halo of loose, brown curls and a grin that suggests he’s always up to something.</p><p>He can’t help thinking of Philip when he really notices the tattoos peeking out from where the white undershirt Damon has on under his square jacket dips low, exposing the curves of his chest as well. They’re mirror images of each other – certainly birds, though Louis can only make out their wings and tails without staring too long. </p><p>He himself had considered getting a tattoo on his twenty-fifth birthday – a stag and a heart he saw in the window of a shop on the South Side. But Philip told him he’d regret it. And though Louis didn’t think he would have – and that he had a better handle on what he might regret than Philip did – he dropped it anyway, too happy to avoid a lecture.</p><p>Philip was always doing that: telling Louis that what he wanted somehow wasn’t that. He acted like the arbiter of Louis’ character, defining the kind of person that he was and wasn’t, sometimes directly contradicting him and never seeing the irony in that.</p><p>When Philip sweetly told Louis that he just didn’t see him as a tattoo kind of guy, what he really meant was that Philip didn’t want him to be. Philip didn’t see himself with a boyfriend who had a tattoo, and the role of his perfect partner is all Philip ever wanted Louis to play.</p><p>It wouldn’t have been like that with Damon.</p><p>It’s silly to even think that – now, when he’s barely known him an hour. But it’s emanating from him, that Damon doesn’t expect anything of Louis other than himself.</p><p>Not that there isn’t any awkwardness between them. </p><p>But it’s the good kind. It’s the desire to be immediately familiar, to take in as much of each other as they possibly can, as quickly as they can. It’s them marveling over their incredible luck and the surreal circumstances of knowing who they are to each other while still being literal strangers.</p><p>In their rush to get to know each other, they keep stepping on one another’s sentences.</p><p>Louis can’t help giggling every time Damon looks at him. </p><p>After another pause, they both begin speaking at the same time, and Damon groans pathetically, pinching the bridge of his nose. </p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>He scrubs his hand over his face then plants it on his hip, fixing Louis with a vaguely accusatory look.</p><p>“Nothing. Nothing. Except that you’re way too pretty, and I’m way too nervous.”</p><p>Louis melts into a grin, and he knows that it’s smug – that anyone walking by would assume that he thinks he has everything.</p><p>He’s okay with that.</p><p>Biting down on his smile, he reaches out and pinches Damon’s bicep through his jacket.</p><p>“You’re pinching me,” Damon says in his slow drawl, eyes dancing. “Why are you pinching me?”</p><p>“You’re here. You’re really here.”</p><p>“I’m here.”</p><p>Damon takes his hand instead of his arm this time, and they resume walking.</p><p>Louis isn’t sure where they’ve wandered exactly, except that they’re far enough from the tourist-beckoning piazzas that the night now seems to belong to them. The side streets aren’t empty, but mostly they see other couples – they, too, inhabit their own worlds, ruling over Rome for the time being.</p><p>Damon listens as Louis tells him about his and Niall’s adventures so far. He skips over a few bits, obviously, like the part where he went through Damon’s trash – just in the interest of time, of course. He tells Damon that he teaches high school anthropology and adores his job, and that Pittsburgh is still home, even though there are hipper cities he could move to. </p><p>He ought to mention Philip, he knows that, but his fiancé hovers just outside of the conversation, never coming up when he should. </p><p>For Damon, a degree in fashion merchandising led to his career in footwear – one that he fell into but is evidently quite passionate about. His freakishly sharp memory has been an asset there. Damon can name the maker and often the season of ninety percent of shoes he sees on the street – a trick he shows off to Louis anytime they pass another soul.</p><p>There’s more that Louis wants to know – <em> will </em> know – but they have their whole lives to get to those boring biographical details that he’s listed off to fill the time on so many other first dates. This one, on the other hand, feels sacred. Louis doesn’t need to know yet where Damon grew up or how many siblings he has. He just wants to <em> be </em>with him, to soak in the magic.</p><p>Letting the real world intrude might break the spell, and he isn’t ready for that yet.</p><p>Rounding a corner, they come upon an elderly woman at her post, holding a basket of individual red roses in the crook of her album.</p><p>“Una rosa per gli amanti?” she asks, with a warm smile.</p><p>Damon stops and lets go of Louis’ hand to dig into his pocket. </p><p>“Quanto costa?”</p><p>“Duemila,” she answers, already choosing a flower.</p><p>“Duemila? <em> “Due</em>mila?, <em> ” </em>Damon repeats, as though he’s trying to haggle. Louis almost steps in to protest that he doesn’t need a gift – this is already as special as he’s ever felt.</p><p>“No, tremila, I think.”</p><p>Damn winks at the woman, then drops the coins – plus a few extra – into her outstretched hand. She holds a single perfect rose out to Louis, nodding at him to take it.</p><p>“Zhan le Devlesa tai sastimasa,” she says as they continue on, bowing her head in thanks.</p><p>“What does that mean?” Louis whispers, carefully twirling the rose in his fingers.</p><p>“She gave us a blessing, I think,” Damon wonders. “A Romani blessing.”</p><p>One of the things that blew Louis’ mind about Italy and Europe in general was the way that modern life had sprung up around preserved history, so that there were landmarks hiding in the most unexpected places. </p><p>He doesn’t recognize the street that they’re on for being home to the Mouth of Truth – or the Bocca della Verità – until they’re right on top of it. </p><p>Louis came here once during college, but on a Saturday afternoon, there was a long line and not much time to admire the ancient mask. He and his roommate stuck their hands into it so that the family behind them could take their picture with Louis’ disposable camera, and then they moved on to the next site on their tour. </p><p>Tonight, it’s deserted.</p><p>The mask watches Louis and Damon approach with its hollow, unblinking eyes. Said to be eternally hungry, the weathered face – some Pagan god whose identity history can’t agree on – is more threatening at night. </p><p>Louis instinctively grips Damon’s hand a little tighter. </p><p>“Do you know the legend about this place?” Damon asks. </p><p>“Do I look like someone who hasn’t seen <em> Roman Holiday?” </em>Louis quips to distract himself from the new chill in the air. “It bites the hands of liars.”</p><p>Damon raises his eyebrow in challenge. </p><p>“Should we risk it? It’s either that or I subject you to my terrible Gregory Peck impersonation.”</p><p>“I’m game if you are.”</p><p>They face each other, extending their opposite hands slowly, slowly in the direction of the mask’s impassive slit of a mouth. </p><p>It’s an old wives’ tale. A photo op. A key scene in an old black and white movie. </p><p>And Louis hasn’t even lied about anything. Sure, Damon doesn’t know he’s engaged, but has he ever asked?</p><p>Still, his heart rate picks up as his fingers glide over the smooth, weathered marble. Damon smirks at him, holding his gaze. Time slows down, the moment extends.</p><p>The second Louis’ hand crosses the threshold, he yanks it back, pulling it into his jacket sleeve and screaming dramatically.</p><p>Damon simultaneously does the same, and then they’re two grown men doubled over in amusement at their obvious, 40-year-old joke.</p><p>Louis’ laughter keeps bubbling up occasionally as they wind their way back to the city’s center. Damon does his terrible Gregory Peck impression anyway; Louis’ isn’t any better. </p><p>“You know, I read once that they tried to get Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn to do a sequel to that movie,” Louis says.</p><p>Damon gasps, offended.</p><p>“But it’s a perfect ending! Sure, it’s sad that they can’t be together, but that’s how it had to happen. That’s the whole point of the movie: she’s a princess, so she can’t have a normal life and, like, marry a commoner. But she got to fall in love with Joe, which is more than she ever dreamed of. So she <em> is </em>happy, in a way, and he’s happy he got to know her.”</p><p>“I like to think that they had dates all over the world after she became queen,” Louis muses. “Like, Joe would hop on a train, Ann would sneak out again, and they’d keep up this torrid affair, one day at a time.”</p><p>“Right under the nose of her horrible husband.”</p><p>Louis huffs a laugh that he hopes doesn't sound off. </p><p>“I wish that she could have stayed single and ruled alone, but you’re right. They probably married her off to the king of some other made-up country.”</p><p>Damon hums, seriously contemplating Louis’ sequel pitch. “It <em> was </em>the ‘50s.”</p><p>They’re at the base of a footbridge. At the center of its arch, a solo busker plays a melancholy song on his saxophone.</p><p>“Anyway, <em> Roman Holiday </em> isn’t about what happens to them after the movie ends,” Louis continues, as they drift towards the melody. “It’s about the miracle that they even found each other. Two people who are totally unprepared, who both have their own agendas, and they end up changing each other for good, just by accident. They’re never gonna forget that day for the rest of their lives. <em> That’s </em>why it’s romantic.”</p><p>Damon lifts Louis’ hand over his head and twirls him under it, then pulls him close.</p><p>“I think I know the feeling,” he murmurs, close to his ear. </p><p>Only after Damon begins to sway them back and forth in time to the music does Louis recognize it.</p><p>There’s no singer to confirm the lyrics, but that’s not necessary. He already knows them by heart.</p><p><em> Some enchanted evening </em> <br/><em> You may see a stranger </em> <em> <br/></em>You may see a stranger across a crowded room</p><p>Louis had been dreading his and Philip’s first dance.</p><p>It wasn’t something they did often, which wasn’t even entirely his fiancé’s fault. </p><p>Louis never pushed for it – didn’t argue when Philip would continue his conversation with someone at their table any time a DJ at a wedding or medical fundraiser started playing a slow song.</p><p>He wasn’t even a terrible dancer, and Louis wouldn’t have cared if he was. </p><p>Dancing only reminded him of the connection they didn’t share, and it was a truth he was hiding from. Louis was always more conscious of the eyes on him than he was of being in his fiancé’s arms.</p><p>But the rest of the world falls away with Damon’s palm on the small of his back and his face tucked into the crook of Damon’s neck. They could have an audience judging their frame and holding up scorecards, and Louis still wouldn’t be the wiser.</p><p>He settles into Damon’s body like he belongs there, easily following his gentle lead. </p><p>Damon sighs, and Louis closes his eyes against it, overwhelmed by how drawn he is to him, how he’s already willing to let everything else go just to stay this close. </p><p>Being held by Damon can only be compared to coming home. There’s a rightness in it that takes Louis’ breath away, it’s so unlike anything he’s ever known. </p><p>He needs to see this through. And to do that, he has to tell the truth – well, some of it – even if it changes Damon’s opinion of him. But he can’t do it here.</p><p>Louis pulls back, finding Damon’s eyes. </p><p>“Is there somewhere we can go?”</p><p>*****</p><p>“Here it is: home, sweet home. For now, anyway.”</p><p>Damon holds the door open for Louis to enter his hotel room ahead of him. </p><p>It’s about as modest as Louis’ accommodations, but – he notes with loyalty to Marcello – doesn’t have quite as much charm. The art on the walls is a little more generic, the color palette a little less daring. </p><p>But Damon’s hotel room has one thing that Louis’ doesn’t. </p><p>Louis crosses it without stopping, pulls open the sliding door, and steps straight out onto the balcony, finding Rome just as they left it.</p><p>The pale, yellow moon – nearly full – seems to hang at eye level, only bolstering Louis’ feeling that they’re somehow at one with the cosmos tonight. </p><p>As he looks down on the city, he thinks about his abandoned list of errands and what he should be doing right now in the alternate universe from which he fled – probably delivering the band the “don’t” list of songs that Lillian thought were too vulgar or gauche, or squeezing six boxes of mini bubbles proclaiming “Philip and Louis Forever” into the trunk of his tiny two-door.</p><p>His thoughts of that other lifetime are interrupted by Damon coming up behind him, the light touch of his slender fingers on Louis’ waist enough to make him tighten his grip on the railing. </p><p>“Is this okay?”</p><p>Every cell in his body is screaming at Louis to fall back into him and leave the confessing for later. With the musky scent of Damon’s aftershave in his nostrils and Rome at his feet, he wants to give himself over to something wild.</p><p>And it’s not like he’s been particularly ethical so far. Tracking another man across an ocean, holding his hand, moving with him in the moonlight, sharing the deepest hope Louis had locked away in his heart...none of these are things that someone who’s already spoken for should be doing. </p><p>He’s hurtling towards the line he thought he’d never cross, so Louis resists. </p><p>He doesn’t tell Damon to stop touching him though.</p><p>Louis turns to face him, bound and determined to get out what he needs to say before he loses all power of decision-making.</p><p>Only Damon starts speaking first.</p><p>“You know, I’ve never thought of myself as particularly lucky. I wasn’t kidding when I said that before. I’ve never won a raffle. I’ve never found anything larger than a dollar bill on the ground. And then tonight, you bumped into me, and I swear to god, I knew. Even before I saw your face. I can’t explain it.”</p><p>It’s everything Louis has been waiting to hear his whole life, from precisely the person he’s wanted to hear it from. </p><p>“But even if we weren’t – I mean, even if<em> I </em>wasn’t,” Damon continues, his hold on Louis’ hips becoming more sure. “I would still be thanking every god for this, because I didn’t even know that you’re what I was missing. And I know it’s sounds totally crazy because we just met, but I think I–”</p><p>Louis clamps onto the collar of Damon’s jacket and drags him down to his lips.</p><p>Despite being interrupted, Damon falters only briefly. As soon as his consciousness catches up with what’s happening, he begins to kiss Louis back. </p><p>He likes kissing plenty, but Louis has always found that there’s some amount of putting up with the other person’s style, no matter how compatible you are. Too wet, too dry, too much tongue, not enough tongue – there’s no such thing as the perfect kiss, right?</p><p>Resolutely, emphatically<em> wrong. </em></p><p>Damon kisses Louis like he knows all of his secrets. </p><p>Everything he does on instinct is so right, Louis isn’t sure he can remain standing on his own for long. Instead of pawing at his body, Damon immediately slides his hands up to frame Louis’ face. He licks into his mouth with purpose and patience, treating this as the main event, not a stop on the way to getting Louis into bed.</p><p>His lips are soft and a little bit chapped from being outside, and Louis wants him so bad, he would crawl inside of him if he could. From the sounds Damon’s making – resonant little moans from the back of his throat – Louis guesses that he’s not the only one being rocked by this experience.</p><p>“I think I was born to kiss you,” Louis says against his lips when they come up for air. </p><p><em> “Fuck, </em>Louis.” </p><p>Damon captures his mouth again, and Louis stops wondering whether that was too intense of a thing to say.</p><p>His mind one white-hot blank of desire, Louis pushes Damon’s jacket down his shoulders without realizing that he’s doing it. It exposes a sinful amount of bare skin, and not for the first time tonight, Louis thinks that Damon dresses more like a local than the other American men he’s seen in Italy.</p><p>He pulls away from Damon’s mouth and smirks at him, trailing his fingertips over his exposed upper chest, just barely glancing against the wings of his birds. He’s about to let his lips follow the same path, but he knows what happens after that, and then after <em> that, </em>and if he doesn’t say something now, he never will.</p><p>“Damon. <em> Damon.” </em></p><p>“Mmm..yeah?” he answers, between dropping kisses on his neck and jaw.</p><p>“I have to tell you something.”</p><p>Even so, Louis crooks his head to the opposite side to give Damon more access and sighs as he sucks a bit of sensitive skin into his mouth.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“I’m – <em> fucking hell </em>, that feels so good – I’m engaged.”</p><p>Damon freezes, his lips still pressed against the hollow of Louis’ throat, then rears back to stare at him.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m engaged,” Louis repeats, only half-regretting the admission. If he wants this to be real, he has to make it right. “And you know him. Philip Dabrowski – your friend – is my fiancé.”</p><p>Damon gasps, his hand flying to his mouth. “No!”</p><p>“He is. I’m that Louis.” Louis grabs for his hands, only just now considering that Damon might not want anything to do with someone who’s done what he has, destiny or not. But if there’s even the smallest chance for them, he has to rip off the Band-Aid. “And I have to call him right now and tell him...I should’ve before we even–”</p><p>Louis drops his hands and turns away from Damon’s befuddled gaze. He dashes back into the room and over to the phone on the night table next to Damon’s bed. </p><p>“Louis, wait. You can’t just dump this guy over an international phone call.”</p><p>Sitting on his bed, Louis twists his body to look at him. “Why not?”</p><p>“I just think you might regret it later, that’s all,” Damon bargains, coming to crouch in front of him. “Why don’t you sleep on it?”</p><p>“Because it’s already gone too far,” Louis bemoans. “I didn’t tell him that I was leaving, or that I was looking for you, or that you even existed! Theoretically, I mean. He’s not my soulmate, but he deserves better than that.”</p><p>With that, he picks up the receiver and starts to dial, having finally memorized his calling card code. </p><p>Damon cuts off the call with the handset tab, and Louis huffs in frustration.</p><p>“Please wait. Just wait one minute. There’s something you need to know before you make any...major life decisions.”</p><p>Eyes wide and trusting, he looks so desperate, so lost. Like Louis might have a change of heart once he gets Philip on the phone.</p><p>He surges forward and kisses Damon again, just to make his point.</p><p>“Everything you’re feeling,” he says when he draws back, “I feel it too.”</p><p>But Damon’s expression hasn’t changed, and Louis’ to-prove-a-point kiss only served to knock his brain off its axis again. Before he knows it, he’s blindly trying to return the phone to its cradle, shrugging off his jacket, and arching down onto the bed, pulling Damon on top of him as he goes.</p><p>They’ll just make out for a while like this, and then he’ll call. Really, he will.</p><p>“That wasn’t what I–” Damon manages to get out. “I meant I have a, sort of, confession to make too.”</p><p>“Oh?” </p><p>Louis drags his teeth over the pulse point in Damon’s neck and he hitches in a breath, his hips canting forward on reflex. </p><p>Louis grins into his skin and starts to tug at the white cotton of his undershirt, untucking it from his pants.</p><p>With a grunt of exasperation, Damon gets a hold of Louis’ wrists and pins them on the mattress above his head. It goes straight to Louis’ cock, but unfortunately, it seems as though Damon is still intent on talking.</p><p>“So, in reality...I mean, in only the most literal sense of the words–” he fumbles, and these are officially the most awkwardly formal circumstances under which Louis has even been lightly restrained.</p><p>“Yeah? You can tell me. C’mon, baby, you can tell me anything.”</p><p>“Okay, good,” Damon says calmly, still sitting on Louis’ thighs and looking slightly relieved. “Because my name’s not Damon Bradley.”</p><p>It’s an entirely different brand of shock to the one Louis experienced earlier in the evening. This one fills him with pure, unadulterated rage.</p><p>Louis shoves at his chest while heaving himself upward, which has the rather satisfying result of sending this imposter clattering to the floor.</p><p>
  <em> “What?” </em>
</p><p>“My name isn’t Damon Bradley,” the man says, holding himself up on his palms. “It’s Harry. Harry Styles.”</p><p><em> “Who the hell is Harry Styles?!” </em>Louis shouts.</p><p>“Look, I’m sorry.” Harry – <em> Harry </em> – scrabbles to his feet. “But everything I said is true. Everything I’ve said all night is true – all except the name. I work in shoes, I love <em> Roman Holiday. </em>I think you’re the most exciting person I’ve ever met.”</p><p>“Yeah? Well, I think you’re a sociopath!” Louis shoves one arm into its jacket sleeve, and then the other. “What even is this? Were you stalking me? I’ve probably gone broke with this trip, so I hate to tell you that I don’t have any money for you to steal.”</p><p>“Hey, <em> you </em> crashed into <em> me </em>tonight. And I’m not the one who’s calling up hotels trying to track down some guy I’ve never even seen.”</p><p>Louis snorts, unimpressed.</p><p>“Meeting you was a total accident, I swear on my mother. And I really love my mother. I shouldn’t have lied, but you were about to leave. Something happened to me when I saw you, and I couldn’t just let that be it. So I panicked. I said the one thing that I knew would make you stay.”</p><p>“I can’t believe you. I told you everything.”</p><p>Harry cocks his head and frowns.</p><p>“Well...eventually! And I never lied, I just….omitted some details.”</p><p>Louis marches to the door, focused entirely on getting as far away from Harry as possible and forgetting that this night ever happened.</p><p>“You don’t even know who Damon Bradley <em> is,” </em>Harry pleads uselessly, following him out into the hallway. “So if you like me, what does it matter that I don’t have the name?”</p><p>
  <em> Because if fate doesn’t exist, then I’ve wasted all this time for nothing. </em>
</p><p>“I <em> don’t </em>like you.”</p><p>Louis jabs at the elevator call button, hating the way that Harry’s words are making him feel. Is he really this stupid? This gullible?</p><p>“What ever happened to ‘I was born to kiss you’?”</p><p>“You can’t hold me to that,” Louis whips around to glare at him, not swayed at all by how wretched Harry looks – hardly the picture of a con man found out. “I didn’t know who I was talking to.”</p><p>Finally, Louis can hear the elevator whine, climbing towards them with incredible strain. The light appears behind its little portal window and he swings the outer door open, then struggles – loudly – to pull back the metal gate. </p><p>“Lou, please. Give us a chance, that’s all I’m asking!”</p><p>Louis shuts the gate behind him with all the force he can muster. Harry all but plasters himself against it, hands gripping the cage like Louis just sentenced him to life without parole.</p><p>Forlorn green eyes lock onto his, and Harry appears to be holding his breath, sensing some hint of apprehension in Louis and hoping that it holds.</p><p>But it’s not that. Louis only misses five minutes ago, when he was sure down to the deepest part of him that this was the person he was going to grow old with. He tries to mourn it, to memorize Harry’s face, but it only makes him angrier that it’s not true.</p><p>“How could you do this to me?” he says quietly. </p><p>“Because I’m in love with you.”</p><p>“Ha!” Louis laughs coldly. “What kind of an excuse is that?”</p><p>The elevator buzzes impatiently, and Harry steps back automatically. The outer door swings shut to separate them, and Louis crumples into the back wall.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From the way Louis had summarily dismissed him so that he could be alone with Damon, the last thing Niall expected was to be woken up at two in the morning by his best friend in angry tears. </p><p>Between all the hyperventilating and the cursing, it took him a while to work out what had actually happened. The key points, he put together eventually, were that the man they met earlier in the evening was <em> not </em>Damon Bradley and that Louis wished the Colosseum were still arranging for people to be eaten by lions.</p><p>Niall hauled himself up to make Louis a cup of weak tea and listened to him rant until he fell asleep in Niall’s bed, blotchy face first into the pillow. When Niall woke again, Louis was gone, no doubt having returned to his own room to get out of his suit and grieve a little more in private. </p><p>So he went down to the complimentary breakfast by himself, not wanting to keep Louis from sleeping in after such a rollercoaster of a night.</p><p>Though Louis was reluctant to admit it, it seemed to have started well. Niall’s first question after learning that the guy lied was whether Louis was physically okay – whether or not the guy did anything else to make him feel uncomfortable or unsafe. But what Louis described sounded like a wholesome – for the most part – and romantic date, and Niall was relieved that the stranger’s sole ulterior motive for giving a fake name was to spend time with Louis.</p><p>Not that the motivation justifies the means. If anything, Louis’ experience only supplied more evidence for Niall’s theory that all men are born liars.</p><p>Even so, back in his room, he allows his mind to drift to the sophisticated guy from the boutique.</p><p>Niall doesn’t give fate the credit Louis does, and he hadn’t felt anything but the innate compulsion to mentally label an attractive man attractive the first time he saw Shawn.</p><p>It was the moment when Shawn lifted his hand to his lips while staring boldly into Niall’s eyes that really fucked him up.</p><p>You don’t see a lot of that in Pittsburgh, PA.</p><p>Nevertheless, he tried his best to chalk up Shawn’s promise to come back and see him to a flirtatious nature. Surely, anyone in his position would have plenty of opportunities to talk tourists into bed with hardly any effort. Imagining that Shawn might still be thinking about him is a road that seems littered with obstacles and ends up with Niall’s heart back in traction. Anyway, they came here to fix<em> Louis’ </em>love life, not his. </p><p>One unsolvable problem at a time.</p><p>If his heart jumps into his throat when there’s a knock at his door that sounds nothing like Louis’ signature three raps, that’s between him and the three cafe au laits he just drank.</p><p>His purposely not-too-eager smile falls when he opens the door not to six-plus feet of Italian tailoring but to the imposter, who’s weighed down by an unwieldy bouquet of fresh flowers.</p><p>“Uh-uh, no. You can’t be here.”</p><p>“Niall – that’s your name, Niall, right? – please,” Harry begs. “Louis left last night before I could explain and now he’s not answering his door.”</p><p>“Did you really think he would? Get in here, you’re making a scene.”</p><p>Niall hustles him inside the room, mainly so Louis won’t overhear their conversation.</p><p>“Thanks.” Harry shifts his weight awkwardly, meeting Niall’s skeptical gaze. “So, um. I’m Harry. Harry Styles.”</p><p>“So I’ve heard,” Niall answers smoothly.</p><p>“I know it sounds bad. I know it wasn’t <em>right</em>, per se, but god, the night we had. People write fucking arias about nights like that. And I wasn’t pretending to be someone I’m not, not at all. Other than the name, I was totally myself, and Louis <em>was attracted </em>to that person. I think he maybe even...well, we clicked – in a way I never have with anyone. I can’t let him throw that away.”</p><p>“But you lied,” Niall stresses. “I know you think you did it for the right reasons, but this is...I mean, you saw how he is about this soulmate thing. Louis is deadly serious about it. So not only did you lie to him, you’re also the guy who messed with his destiny. You’re lucky you still have all your limbs.”</p><p>Harry carefully lays his flowers down on the table, seemingly gathering his thoughts. </p><p>“Destiny? You want to know about destiny?” he says, after a moment. “How about this: I didn’t find out I was going on this business trip until 24 hours before the plane took off. My boss always does them himself, never shares the perks, and then – bam – he gets appendicitis. Suddenly, he’s in the hospital being prepped for surgery, and I’m being prepped to do the Rome shows. I’ve barely left Boston – this is my first time overseas. I spent the whole plane ride listening to these Italian lessons on tape. And then last night, I thought I’d unwind and catch a movie. But the projector broke 20 minutes in and they gave us all our money back and told us to leave. I’d already had dinner, so I was just out walking – totally aimlessly, I wasn’t even paying attention to street names – and your Louis crashes into me. He’s going full speed through a busy piazza and somehow, he doesn’t run into anyone else? Then he drops a shoe – a <em>shoe </em>– the whole reason I’m here in Italy in the first place. And I’m looking at him, this gorgeous, fascinating human being, and I’m thinking, ‘If this is what I think it is, someone just give me a sign. Tell me what I can do to make him notice me.’ And then I got one.”</p><p>Niall rolls his eyes. “That wasn’t a sign from god, that was you sticking your nose into other people’s business.”</p><p>“But can you explain the rest of it? That’s an awful lot of coincidences.”</p><p>“I dunno why you’re trying to convince <em> me–” </em></p><p>“Because he’ll listen to you. And <em>I </em>know that <em>you </em>think that this Damon Bradley thing is a wild goose chase. Even if you do find him, what are the chances that he’s going to be, like, amazing? He could be boring. He could have a wife and kids. He could be the kind of person who clips his nails <em>in public.”</em></p><p>It seems traitorous for Niall to acknowledge the time he’s spent mentally preparing for Damon to be revealed as something other than the hero Louis is picturing, so he doesn’t.</p><p>“Harry. Look. Despite what you did, you seem like a nice guy,” he says instead, meaning it. “You really do. But I don’t see how he’s going to be able to get past this.”</p><p>Harry sighs, but it’s not the sigh of someone who’s giving up.</p><p>“He’s not the guy,” he says, steady and uncompromising. “<em>I’m </em>the guy. I was there, I know it.”</p><p>“Well…” Niall chews on it for a second. “If you are, then fate will probably work it all out, yeah?”</p><p>Harry nods, his lips pressed in a thoughtful line.</p><p>“Will you just – will you just give these to him and tell him again that I’m sorry?” he picks up the arrangement and holds it out to Niall.</p><p>Before Niall can answer, there’s another knock at the door.</p><p>He glances at Harry, who looks hopeful, then crosses the room to open it.</p><p>Shawn is standing in the hallway with a small handful of wildflowers that remind Niall of the ones he and Louis saw in the countryside during their road trip.</p><p>“Hi,” he says, in that voice that’s a combination of sunshine and things unmentionable. </p><p>And Niall has no self-control at all, because he instantly forgets that he’s now impervious to this kind of thing. A stone-cold realist who won’t let his guard down just because a really hot guy who speaks perfect Italian pulled over to pick him weeds on the side of the road.</p><p>Shawn’s smile falters when he looks past him and notices Niall isn’t alone in the room – and that the bouquet Harry’s holding is three times the size.</p><p>“Louis’ friend!” Niall blurts, taking the flowers from Harry and practically shoving him out the door. “And he was just leaving.”</p><p>*****</p><p>“I got us on the first flight out tomorrow,” Louis says without a greeting, blowing past Niall to enter his room. “So you should probably pack tonight.”</p><p>It’s the first he’s seen of him since Niall dropped Harry’s pathetic apology flowers off at his room without much commentary. Louis had encouraged him to go enjoy the city and see some sights, and Niall seemed to understand that Louis needed to stay in and wallow. Anyway, he was done with this place by virtue of association. Rome equals Damon equals opportunistic liar. It stopped being beautiful to him the moment Harry came clean.</p><p>They hadn’t ever solidified their plans for getting back, but Louis assumed the sooner the better all around. Niall had to be due into work soon, and the search no longer held any appeal for Louis. He had tried, but he had failed. He doubted that Philip would even ask many questions about their impromptu excursion, so blasé was he about what Louis got up to when he wasn’t around.</p><p>So it would be a quiet dinner at a restaurant nearby, then to bed early, and a taxi to the airport right at dawn.</p><p>Only Niall isn’t dressed for a quiet dinner, Louis notices as he flops down into the chair next to his bed. He’s in one of his third date outfits: cream-colored pleated slacks and a matching seventies-style zipper polo with gray detailing – not the sort of thing he’d bother wearing to impress Louis. Especially with the zipper undone to there.</p><p>“Nialllll,” Louis draws out, the yellow and white wildflowers propped up in a water glass on the table below the mirror drawing his eye. “Have you taken a lover?”</p><p>“Huh?” </p><p>Niall spins around, and Louis juts his chin towards the makeshift vase.</p><p>“Oh. Yeah, Shawn dropped by, just to say he was back.”</p><p>“And to ask you out?”</p><p>“He offered to give me a tour of the fountains, that’s all. I mean, I’m here. Never been in Rome, I ought to see them, right?”</p><p>“You can do whatever you want, Ni. You deserve a night out.”</p><p>“Will you be okay on your own? I should’ve asked before I–”</p><p>Louis shakes off Niall’s concern. </p><p>“No. You should have fun, but I just want to get through tonight and leave all of this in the past. Damon, all of it. I appreciate you coming here with me, but it was a huge mistake. This was <em> all </em>a huge mistake.”</p><p>“What about Harry?”</p><p>“Harry? Harry’s irrelevant. A blip.” </p><p>“I dunno,” Niall muses, checking the swoop of his hair in the mirror. “I thought he was kind of cute. Passionate.”</p><p>“Passionate?” Louis laughs, incredulous. “He was eccentric, at best, and not in a good way.”</p><p>“You mean not in your way?” Niall challenges, with a glance over his shoulder. </p><p>“N–hey, that’s not fair.”</p><p>“I love you like a brother, but if the real Damon found out about everything you did to find him, you’d be praying he’d go for passionate over eccentric too.”</p><p>“That’s...it isn’t the same.”</p><p>“Maybe not,” Niall says coolly, turning to face Louis fully. “Even so. You’re obviously crazy about him.”</p><p>“Am not! I hate him.”</p><p>“Do you now?” His eyebrows fly upward, knowingly. “Those are pretty strong words for someone you just said was ‘irrelevant.’”</p><p>“I do, I hate him,” Louis announces with prim satisfaction. “And I’ve considered reporting him to Interpol – you can’t just assume another person’s identity.”</p><p>“Alright, well. I’m sure they have plenty of international crime rings to deal with, but you do that if it’ll make you feel better.” Niall pats his knee.</p><p>Then a sharp, clear whistle slices through the air, coming from outside and below. Niall strides over to the window, his face erupting into an unruly smile. </p><p>Seeing whatever – or whomever – he expected to see, Niall waves down.</p><p>“I’m sorry, dude, I gotta go.”</p><p>He waits for Louis to nod, granting permission, before he grabs his jacket from where it hangs in the room’s narrow closet. </p><p>“Have a good time tonight.”</p><p>Processing Louis’ tone, which is tolerant but unenthusiastic, Niall stops at the door as though he’s a teenager who’s been caught sneaking out. </p><p>“D’you want me to stay? Because I can stay. He’ll understand.”</p><p>It’s an offer it’s clearly killing him to make. Niall is wound as tightly as a sprinter waiting for the starting gun. And Louis would never ask him to skip out on something that could be meaningful just to keep him company.</p><p>Even so, he can picture them both tomorrow on the early flight: weary and heartbroken, having given more of themselves to Italy than it bothered to reciprocate.</p><p>“No, of course not,” he says. Then, voice softening: “Just...be careful, alright?”</p><p>“He knows we’re leaving tomorrow,” Niall sighs after a moment, the doorknob twisting in his hand.</p><p>And he’s off a second later, shutting Louis into his room alone. </p><p>As Louis raids his minibar, he thinks that Shawn isn’t the one who seems confused about that fact.</p><p>*****</p><p>After mixing and drinking a sad room cocktail, Louis decides that he owes it to himself not to spend his last evening in Europe – or indeed, his last evening of freedom before parachuting back into Wedding Central, now certainly in chaos – cooped up in a hotel, no matter how adorable it may be.</p><p>Not to mention, Niall packed a handful of outfits that he hasn’t had the chance to wear yet.</p><p>As he changes into fitted black jeans and a loose-necked navy t-shirt that’s his favorite because of the way it flows over his curves, Louis can’t help but drift back in time to the night before – and to what he almost did.</p><p>Pulling the thin, whisper-soft fabric over his head conjures up a sense memory of Harry’s warm breath on his neck when they danced in the street, and Louis’ body gets confused again. </p><p>He was sure when he agreed to marry Philip, if not before, that being guided by his hormones was a source of embarrassment he’d left in the past. But how else to explain it? </p><p>While Harry’s confession worked as well as a bucket of ice water at the time, Louis’ day has been annoyingly peppered with little flashes like this, where he gets hung up on remembering the pressure of his lips or the way Harry looked at him like a prized possession he was sure he’d lost forever, and only channeling his anger will help him kick back up to the surface again.</p><p>He reasons that, though Harry may be a grifter and an unscrupulous fraud and probably many other shameful things, no one could ever accuse him of being not nice to look at. Not to mention, wedding stress and general exhaustion have done no favors for his and Philip’s sex life. </p><p>So, Louis was carried away being alone with a handsome man – someone new – thousands of miles from where anyone but Niall would know him. And it’s not as though he got to leave the encounter satisfied. He refuses to judge himself for the chemicals in his bloodstream going all haywire because of it. </p><p>That explains why he got himself off twice in the shower today. </p><p>It doesn’t explain why he’s caught himself thinking that it might be nice just to see Harry’s face or to talk to him for a little while.</p><p>That feels too much like missing, and Louis certainly isn’t doing that.</p><p>But that is exactly why he has to get out right now, Louis thinks, grabbing his black motorcycle jacket and his room key. He needs to make another memory to take home with him, even if it’s a quiet one. </p><p>Maybe that, coupled with whatever details he can wrangle out of Niall when Shawn drops him back off, will get Harry out of his system for good.</p><p>On his way through the lobby, he runs into Marcello and asks him to call a taxi for the next morning.</p><p>“You leave us so soon?” the manager replies, with a disappointment that seems genuine.</p><p>“It was a short trip. But I’d love to come back, Marcello, really. This place is really beautiful. Bellisimi.”</p><p>Marcello beams at this, promises to make sure that a taxi is waiting for Louis and Niall first thing, and then wishes Louis a magical last night in Rome. On this last point, he tilts his head in the direction of the door, then he’s gone into the back office or the kitchen or to wherever he usually disappears to.</p><p>Louis immediately finds out why Marcello assumes he has special plans for the evening when he steps out into the courtyard to see Harry sitting on one of the cafe chairs, his hands clasped between his knees.</p><p>He jumps to his feet when he spots Louis, and Louis throws up his arms, unhappily confronted with the object of the past twelve hours’ worth of seething anger and intermittent fantasies.</p><p>“Have you been waiting out here all day? Because that would be the behavior of a creep.”</p><p>“No, Lou, I told you. I’m not a stalker.”</p><p>It’s Louis’ first time seeing him in the daylight, waning as it is. Dressed in a black, short-sleeved linen button-down tucked into another pair of high-waisted pants so oversized Louis would describe them as flowing, he blends right in. Only the white, vulnerable-looking skin on the inside of his elbows betrays that Harry wasn’t born and raised in the Mediterranean sun. </p><p>No question that it suits him though, Louis begrudgingly admits to himself. With his golden brown tan, white teeth, and classic Ray-Bans nestled in his curls, Harry looks like a vacation. Like dessert for dinner and falling asleep on the beach and getting lost on purpose someplace you’ve never been. </p><p>Unfortunately – irrationally – Louis is glad to see him.</p><p>“That’s exactly what a stalker would say,” he retorts icily. “And don’t call me ‘Lou.’”</p><p>“I’ve been in and out of shows all day. It was lunch when I came by, with the – did you get them?” Louis says nothing, only crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I just got back, I swear.”</p><p>“But <em> why </em> are you back? And for god’s sake, don’t say you–” Louis’ voice drops to a whisper. –” <em> love </em> me again.”</p><p>As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he knows he’s made a mistake. But his response is merely Pavlovian, the way his heart thumps against his ribcage as he stares Harry down, daring him to repeat his nonsensical declaration. </p><p>“Why shouldn’t I?” Harry says easily. “I do.”</p><p>“No, you don’t. You don’t even know me, and I don’t know you.”</p><p>Louis turns on his heel and walks away from Harry, in the direction of the exit to the street. But Harry follows; he can hear his shoes crunching into the gravel just behind him.</p><p>“That’s why I’m here, so you can get to know me!”</p><p>“I think I’ll pass.”</p><p>A hand on his bicep stops him in his tracks. To Harry’s credit, he immediately drops it when Louis whirls around.</p><p>“Come on, Lou...is. I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I’ll say it as many times as it takes for you to know that I mean it.”</p><p>Louis chuckles at the lie.</p><p>“I know, you do keep saying that. But if you really were, you wouldn’t be here. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you how to take no for an answer?”</p><p>For the first time in the conversation, Harry’s self-assured demeanor drops, his arms going slack at his sides. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again. Louis hums in triumph, and starts on his way again.</p><p>“No, forget it,” Harry says, raising his voice. “I’m not sorry that I told you I was Damon.”</p><p>Louis stops on his own this time, hovering right under the courtyard’s trellis entrance.</p><p>“I’m sorry that it hurt you, but I’m not sorry that I did it,” Harry continues. “Because if I hadn’t, we never would have met, not really. And I just can’t be sorry for that. I can’t be sorry that I know you.”</p><p>“Well, there again, the truth comes out.”</p><p>“Yep,” Harry’s right behind him again, a defiance in his tone that’s irritatingly sexy. “Since we’re on a roll, you wanna share yours?”</p><p>Louis turns around, and Harry’s face is only inches away. He hasn’t been able to banish it from his thoughts all day, but it still takes him by surprise.</p><p>A wave of pure emotion crashes over Louis, waiting to be assigned a purpose. </p><p><em> Hate him. You </em> hate <em> him. </em></p><p>Right.</p><p>“I told you about Philip, not that you deserved to know.”</p><p>“No.” Harry doesn’t break eye contact. “Not about that.”</p><p>“I don’t like this game, Harry,” Louis warns.</p><p>“I’m talking about last night and the fact that you were right there with me, every step of the way. I’m not stupid Louis – I know what it looks like when someone’s into me. And with us, it was...it was beyond that, it was <em> bigger </em>than that, in every way. I wouldn’t be bothering you now if I didn’t know for a fact that you felt it too. All of it. Including that thing you don’t want me to say.”</p><p>“That’s ridiculous. You’re projecting.” </p><p>“You came here to look for something, and you found it. It’s right here. And I get that it’s scary, but hey – at least you had some warning. I didn’t even know I <em> had </em>a soulmate unti–”</p><p>“Don’t,” Louis stops him, dangerously close to tears. “Just...don’t.”</p><p>“You’re the expert here. So help me understand: if destiny is just people being thrown into each other’s lives by chance, then why doesn’t that apply here, huh? Can’t we be fate?”</p><p>Louis looks away from Harry’s gaze, unnerved by its openness. </p><p>“It doesn’t work like that.”</p><p>“Oh,” Harry says, dejected. “Okay. Well, then I hope you’ll be very happy, Louis. Whatever you decide to do.”</p><p>He takes Louis’ hand and lifts it slowly to his mouth, watching him for any sign that he shouldn’t. </p><p>But Louis doesn’t pull away or tell him to stop. He just shuts his eyes for the briefest of moments when Harry presses his lips to his fingers. And in that split second, Louis’ thoughts clear, the confusion within him quiets, and he allows himself to admit the truth that’s been fueling half of his anger:</p><p>
  <em> I wish that it had been you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I was so happy believing that it was you. </em>
</p><p>*****</p><p>“That’s everything.”</p><p>Niall shuts the trunk of the idling taxi and joins Louis in saying goodbye to Marcello, who’s seeing them off. </p><p>At the early hour, there are still shades of violet and blue in the slowly pinkening sky, but Niall keeps his sunglasses in place.</p><p>He also smells like a winery, which ought to be fun for whomever’s sitting next to him on their flight.</p><p>Louis wants to ask him how last night went, but it seems redundant considering the state of him. He can at least wait until he gets some airport cafeteria coffee in him to ply him for specifics. All he knows is that Niall wasn’t back when he returned from his own dinner – a sad affair that involved him going back over his own humiliation while his taste buds failed to register what was almost certainly an outstanding puttanesca. </p><p>At least this disastrous experiment was over – or would be, as soon as they boarded the plane.</p><p>“Grazie, Marcello,” Louis says to their aging host, not wanting him to read anything into his lackluster mood – or Niall’s hangover – about their experience. “For everything, really.”</p><p>“Signor Niall, Signor Louis – you will always be welcome back.”</p><p>Marcello kisses them both on each cheek and shuts the door after them when they crawl into the backseat, then taps the top of the car to signal to the driver that they’re ready to go.</p><p>Louis inhales deeply as the taxi pulls slowly away from the curb, watching Marcello wave to them through the side mirror.</p><p>Suddenly, he’s obscured by a streak of beige and white, which Louis almost catches out of the corner of his eye as well.</p><p>The figure catches up to the car for a half of a second before it surges ahead again. A fist flails out to knock at the window, and Louis recognizes the rings it bears.</p><p>“I know where he is!” Harry’s shout is muffled, but Louis registers it clearly enough. “I found him!”</p><p>“Stop the car, please!” Louis yelps, jostling Niall’s head from where it’s already come to lay on his shoulder. “Ferma!”</p><p>The driver makes a face in the rearview mirror but pulls over again anyway. Louis rolls the window down while Harry jogs up to where they’ve stopped and takes a gulping breath.</p><p>“What are you saying?”</p><p>“Damon Bradley,” Harry says, once he has wind to do so. “I know where he is.”</p><p>“Wha–<em> how?” </em></p><p>“I know I ruined things for you, and I never meant to do that, so after I left you, I went back to that restaurant from the other night. I talked to the maitre’d, I asked him if he knew Mr. Bradley. He said, yes, as a matter of fact, Mr. Bradley’s been dining there for years. And – you’re gonna love me for this – he also said that Mr. Bradley always follows the same route when he comes to Italy. After Rome, he goes south, to the Amalfi Coast. The guy even knew what resort he likes. They really roll out the red carpet for him, apparently.”</p><p>It had seemed impossible that Louis could recover any of his former optimism about the fruitfulness of this trip. Harry had stripped him of it, and he was even coming around to seeing it as a good thing. It was about time he grew up and really let go of the childish fantasies he’d previously only pretended to.</p><p>But he can taste it now, that delicate essence of hope. It’s too seductive, the idea that he just has to take one more step, complete one more challenge, before getting what he’s been promised.</p><p>“So you’re saying...”</p><p>“I know where Damon is.” Harry grins, popping his dimple and looking awfully proud of himself. “Exactly where he is, in Positano.”</p><p>Less than sixty seconds later, the taxi is pulling away again, this time leaving Niall, Louis, and their luggage on the side of the road.</p><p>“So what now?” Niall asks, more awake.</p><p>“Positano’s a few hours away, right? I’ve never been that far south.”</p><p>“Three and a half hours, I think,” Harry says, straightening the blue scarf he has tied around his neck. “I don’t know about trains – it would be much faster if we drove.”</p><p>“We?” Louis looks at him sideways.</p><p>“I–” Harry falters. “I mean, I don’t want to intrude, but I was gonna stay a couple of extra days anyway, travel around a bit…”</p><p>“So you thought you’d tag along onto our trip?”</p><p>“Just as a friend,” he says, holding his hands up in placation. “Just for moral support...If you want, that is. Personally, I’d like the company. Not to sound pathetic, but you’re kind of the only people know in Italy.”</p><p>Louis could banish him, he knows. Harry would give him the name of Damon’s hotel, and they could part ways right here. But it couldn’t hurt to have someone else on the team – especially someone who’s already a more fluent speaker than Louis is after living here for three months. </p><p>Anyway, he certainly did the work. And maybe, deep down underneath the rest of it, Louis doesn’t hate being reminded that he’s a desirable person after all.</p><p>He’s not proud.</p><p>“Okay. Okay, fine, just...don’t make me regret this,” he warns. “You know what I mean.”</p><p>“I did good, didn’t I?” </p><p>“You did alright,” Louis allows, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards.</p><p>“Shawn has a car,” Niall announces, drawing Louis’ attention away from Harry. “I can call him right now, I know he’ll take us.”</p><p>“Ni, someday – not right now, but someday – you’re gonna tell me what it is you did to that man.”</p><p>“He doesn’t want to admit it,” Harry says, leaning into Niall, but speaking loudly enough for Louis to hear. “But I did good.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The obvious arrangement is for Niall to sit up front with Shawn in his little red convertible, which leads to Louis questioning his own judgment as he and Harry buckle up in the back. </p><p>But, somewhat surprisingly, Harry is on his best behavior for their ride down the coast. He doesn’t renew any of his declarations or try to talk him out of pursuing Damon.</p><p>Mostly, he tells stories. Not once-upon-a-time stories, but anecdotes about his life back in Boston. Louis tries not to be interested – not in his terrible boss or his overweight cat or his friend Nick’s standoff with a neighbor who kept stealing his packages – but he has to admit that Harry knows how to hold an audience.</p><p>At first, Louis keeps his face turned towards the passing view as he listens. But when he glances to his other side, he’ll catch Harry laughing at one of his own jokes or scrunching his features over a long past offense. After a while, he stops staring out at the countryside so much...until Harry makes the suggestion that they play I Spy, that is. A few follow-up questions reveal that it’s a serious one.</p><p>The wind whipping all around them gives Shawn and Niall a degree of privacy, since Louis can’t hear a word either of them say unless they turn around and yell. So it’s one-on-one for this edition of I Spy, and Louis gets into it, albeit reluctantly at first, feeling motivated to top Harry’s increasingly obscure and difficult-to-spot clues. </p><p>There are long stretches of road where there really isn’t much interesting happening, though. That’s when Louis lets down his guard even more, allowing Harry’s stories to remind him of similar funny things that had happened to him and his friends. But he stays in safe territory, never bringing up Philip or the signs that brought him to Italy and certainly not even hinting at anything that had happened with him and Harry the night that they met. </p><p>It’s...nice. Just nice. When Louis checks his watch, he’s surprised to see how much time has gone by already.</p><p>“I spy something cute,” Harry says at one point, propping his elbow up on the window frame and looking very entertained.</p><p>Louis sighs heavily. They’d been doing so well. “I told you I’m not int–”</p><p>“Not everything’s about you, Lou,” Harry smoothly interrupts. “Though I’m ready to elaborate on the subject anytime you’ll let me.”</p><p>Taking pity on his evident confusion, Harry looks to the space in between the two front seats. Louis follows his gaze to find that Shawn has laid his hand on top of Niall’s and is expertly moving it from there to the gear shift whenever they encounter a hill.</p><p>Louis bites down on a smile, just as the smell of the ocean hits his nostrils.</p><p>Fifteen minutes later, they’ve valeted the car at Covo dei Saraceni, a hotel that’s carved into the Italian coastline like a sculpture. </p><p>As is the rest of the town. Being in Positano feels like they’ve reached the end of the world. Homes, businesses, and other resorts are built into the hills – pastel-colored, stacked precariously, and all looking out into the vast teal expanse of the Mediterranean. It’s almost impossible to fathom that anything lies beyond that, so Louis’ confidence grows. </p><p>It’s the end of the line. Where else would Damon be waiting for him?</p><p>“Louis. <em> Louis,” </em>Niall whispers fiercely as they enter the high-ceilinged lobby, until Louis falls back to him. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I think Eddie Murphy stayed here.” </p><p>“I’ll go talk to the concierge, okay?” Shawn asks, waiting for Louis’ nod and squeezing Niall’s elbow before he walks away. </p><p>“Nice,” Harry mildly assesses, surveying the room as if he regularly visits more extravagant places.</p><p>Louis glances down at his outfit of slim white shorts, a white t-shirt, a zip-up Prussian blue windbreaker, and white lace-up sneakers. He’d changed in Marcello’s office before Shawn came to pick them up, choosing his clothes with their destination in mind. He definitely nailed the seaside vibe, but can’t help wondering how obvious it is to the <em> Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous </em>crowd that everything he’s wearing is right off the rack.</p><p>“You look great.”</p><p>“Hm? What?”</p><p>Harry seems to be examining a vase of flowers on a table a few away. </p><p>“You look like you belong here,” he says, his eyes flicking up to meet Louis’. “And even if you didn’t, you’d still put the rest of them to shame.”</p><p>Louis is caught off guard by the compliment and can only blink at him.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’m not hitting on you again.” Harry shrugs. “It’s just a fact.”</p><p>Louis opens his mouth to respond, unsure of what’s going to come out, but then Shawn is walking back over to them.</p><p>“Soooo,” he says excitedly, a smile taking over his face. “Mr. Bradley is by the pool.”</p><p>“Right now?” Louis manages to ask. “He’s out there there right now?”</p><p>“Yes. The concierge says he has a lot of tattoos, but he specifically mentioned a pair of wings on his chest.”</p><p>“Wings on his chest,” Louis breathes. “Wow.”</p><p>Over his shoulder, Harry lets out a little huff of jealousy. Louis ignores him.</p><p>“Okay, buddy, are you ready?”</p><p>Louis looks at Niall, a familiar sense of unease settling in his gut. </p><p>“Well, yeah,” he says, mustering some confidence. “Yeah, should we?” He glances back at Harry, who lifts his eyebrows. “We should. We should probably go and…”</p><p>Without waiting for an answer, Louis starts drifting towards the glass door that he just watched a pool attendant carrying a tower of clean, folded towels walk through. The sound of muffled splashes and conversations becomes louder and clearer as he reaches it, but the beating of his heart won’t be completely drowned out. The early afternoon Mediterranean sun shines directly into his eyes when he steps outside, so Louis drops his amber aviators back into place from where they had been resting on top of his head.</p><p>The pool is shaped like a frown, curving out and back in again along with the deck to put as little space as possible between sunbathers and the view. Every deck chair is taken, each of their spotless white cushions either bearing a body or the personal items of someone who’s taking a dip. It’s not a large space, but it’s so crowded with attractive, wealthy-looking people that Louis wonders if he’ll have to go from chair to chair on the hunt for his soulmate and his wings. </p><p>He’s just about to start the process, when one voice rings out over all the others.</p><p>“Bye, Damon! See you tomorrow!”</p><p>Louis zeroes in to the source of the sound – a girl of maybe eleven or twelve in the pool with a younger brother, waving to somebody else.</p><p>“Right, love,” a smoother, quieter, <em> older </em> somebody else says. “See ya.”</p><p>When he tries to locate <em> that </em>voice, Louis is rewarded with no less than the cover of a romance novel.</p><p>He watches helplessly as a man with golden-olive skin bypasses the ladder and pushes himself out of the pool with the strength of his arms. He climbs out onto the patio, white trunks clinging obscenely to his thighs, and then stands at the edge for a moment, droplets gliding down every inch of his lean, toned body. Pushing soaking locks of shiny, jet black hair out of his eyes, the man reveals the most symmetrical face Louis has ever seen. </p><p>He slides his sunglasses down his nose so he can get an unobscured look.</p><p>“You may want to close your mouth,” Harry says in his ear.</p><p>He must have dozens of tattoos, Louis thinks, batting Harry away like the pest that he is. Fifty? Forty at least. (Philip would be absolutely scandalized.) The way the man’s lingering near the pool suggests that he doesn’t much mind being gawked at, but it doesn’t take Louis long to find the identifying one. There are a huge pair of black wings spanning from shoulder to shoulder. </p><p>So, Damon Bradley is only a god. No pressure.</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“Well, what?”</p><p>“He’s right there,” Harry prods.</p><p>“Don’t rush me.”</p><p>“I’m just trying to help.”</p><p>“Well, you’re not,” Louis says. “But, yeah. I’ll just go over, and...introduce myself.”</p><p>“You do that.”</p><p>When Louis gets close enough to speak to him, Damon is back at his deckchair, rubbing a towel on his head and making no attempt to cover up his body. </p><p>“Hi there. Hi.”</p><p>Damon regards Louis placidly, without a hint of surprise, just waiting to hear what he has to say.</p><p>“Alrigh’?”</p><p>Louis is instantly reminded of the aloof boys he crushed on hard in high school, living and dying by every crumb of interest they’d occasionally drop for him. None of them had Damon’s almond-shaped brown eyes, however, or dark eyelashes so long that they matted together like this when they were wet.</p><p>It takes Louis a half a second too long to answer him, which makes Damon smile slightly.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, thank you. I just got here, with my friends. There they are.”</p><p>Louis looks over his shoulder, stupidly. Standing in a line, Shawn, Niall, and Harry – his expression blank – wave.</p><p>“Wicked.”</p><p>A god, and British. It hadn’t come through on the phone.</p><p>“Yeah, and, um. I just wanted to say hello.”</p><p>At this, Damon looks Louis up and down – a delayed but not unwelcome reaction.</p><p>Still, he always imagined that there would be more. Some flicker of recognition. Like the moment of discovery he thought he’d seen on the face of….but that’s neither here nor there. </p><p>At the very least, Damon evidently isn’t disappointed by what he sees.</p><p>“Hello,” he says, tossing his towel down onto his chair and tuning in a little more.</p><p>“That’s not all I wanted to say, actually,” Louis hurriedly adds before his eyes can slide back down to Damon’s abs again. “You’re probably...are you busy tonight?”</p><p>“Nah, not really.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s–d’you, I mean, would you like to have dinner? Dinner, of course you’d like to have <em> dinner. </em>I mean with me, specifically. Dinner with me.”</p><p>In all his life, Louis has never been indifferent to being asked out. Either he’s happy about it or he isn’t, but Damon doesn’t seem to observe that binary. Maybe being aesthetically perfect can render you zen about the thing.</p><p>“Yeah, that’d be cool.”</p><p>“Great!” Louis can’t match his chill, he’s just not that person; fortunately, Damon seems moderately amused by that. “That’s just...great! Where should I–?”</p><p>“There’s a restaurant, downstairs. It’s quite nice, like.”</p><p>“Perfect.”</p><p>“Meet you at eight?”</p><p>“Even more perfect! Well, I’ll let you get back to your...tan.” Louis grimaces inwardly, but keeps a benign smile on his face as he turns to go. </p><p>“Wait.”</p><p>He turns back to Damon, still unprepared for the cut of his cheekbones and the way his thick eyebrows frame his bedroom-y gaze.</p><p>“You never told me your name.”</p><p>“Louis! It’s Louis. And you’re Damon.” Damon nods, and Louis could be wrong, but he thinks he senses a tiny bit of curiosity that wasn’t there before. “Okay, goodbye.”</p><p>Taking one too many steps backwards before turning away, Louis’ calves hit the frame of the deckchair behind him and he drops down into it with a mortifying little yelp.</p><p>“You alrigh’? Careful, there.”</p><p>Damon holds out a heavily inked hand to help him up, but Louis waves it away, popping up to his feet himself.</p><p>“I’m fine. Just fine. I’ll see you later. Damon.”</p><p>He whirls around before he can see Damon’s reaction and walks straight back towards the others.</p><p>“<em> Very </em>smooth,” Harry says under his breath. Louis digs his fingers into his bicep and yanks him towards the hotel.</p><p>*****</p><p>Louis doesn’t ask why Niall opts to bunk with him when Shawn has his own room, but he won’t be totally surprised if the double bed five feet from his remains made all night.</p><p>All he’s been able to gather so far is that their date the previous evening had remained safe for general audiences, aside from the amount of wine consumed.</p><p>Niall was holding himself back, Louis could tell. Other people in his position would happily participate in a fling – probably came to Italy half-expecting they’d have one – and Niall’s enjoyed some fun, healthy, short-term entanglements himself.</p><p>That he’s maintaining his distance tells Louis that Niall isn’t sure yet what box to put Shawn in. In the past, Niall had been perfectly happy to be in the occasional relationship based on fun and sex alone, but only if those parameters were communicated from the start. With Shawn, however, there wasn’t a conversation to be had. They were leaving in a day or two, meaning that no one was in a position to make any promises. That alone should have simplified things, but Louis knows his best friend. He wouldn’t have rolled his luggage into a double with Louis if he wasn’t emotionally involved.</p><p>Anyway, it was a miracle that three rooms were available, albeit at a same-day, five-star price that made Louis’ eyes water. But Harry insisted that he cover Louis and Niall’s room with his corporate card as well, claiming that his boss fudged expense reports all the time.</p><p>Once they were checked in, Louis thought he might be tempted to get dressed up and loiter in the lobby or by the pool, just to get another glimpse of Damon. But then Harry called their room and suggested they check out the beach, and were they really racking up a bill this astronomical not to experience any of the charms of Positano?</p><p>Frighteningly prescient, Niall had thrown a bathing suit into Louis’ suitcase and brought one for himself as well. And though their knee-length trunks don’t stand out at the pool at the Y, they’re certainly a less popular style this far south, even among their party. </p><p>After the four of them stake out an empty spot halfway between the tide and stone steps back up to the hotel, they drop the towels they collected from the beach attendant and begin getting set up.</p><p>Standing up to full height, Shawn pulls his t-shirt over his head and then drops the black shorts that Louis had assumed were his bathing suit, leaving him wearing nothing but a skin-tight, navy blue Speedo. Oblivious to Niall kneeling frozen in the sand, he grabs a bottle of sunscreen from his bag, flicks it open, and begins applying it.</p><p>Glancing around them, Louis can see why Shawn, a local, had adopted the look. It was obviously in vogue among European men of all ages, shapes, and sizes. But he had to know that it looked especially good on his frame – and left little to the imagination.</p><p>Louis flicks Niall’s upper arm to reboot him.</p><p>“Can I–do you need help?” Niall stutters, stumbling to his feet and reaching for the bottle. </p><p>Shawn’s eyes light up, but the rest of that conversation is lost to Louis when Harry sprawls flat on his back next to him.</p><p>Louis was trying to find his sunglasses case in his backpack, so it wasn’t his fault. By sheer chance, the search puts his eyes right at the level of where Harry’s tiny, yellow shorts hit his upper thigh. His face and forearms had tanned from their proximity to the equator, but his legs are a few shades lighter, milky and almost totally smooth above his knee.</p><p>“You like ‘em?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>Propped up on his forearms, Harry stares down at Louis, Ray-Bans masking that annoying, I-know-you look that’s probably in his eyes.</p><p>“Didn’t have a suit with me, so I had to buy them at the gift shop. Not quite as sassy as Greg Louganis over there–” He juts his chin in the direction of Shawn, who’s now returning the favor and doing Niall’s back.  “–but they’ll do.”</p><p>Soon, the four of them wade into the sea, as warm as a bath, then fall asleep in the sun. When the intense, shimmering heat of the day gets to be too uncomfortable, they pack up their things, get a table in the shade at the hotel’s outdoor cafe, and order freshly made paninis and bitter European beers.</p><p>For the first time since they arrived, Louis lets himself forget that he’s here on a mission. After all, his chase is over. Sitting with Shawn, Niall, and Harry, ordering a second round and thinking about gelato because nothing makes you hungrier than the beach, he can almost imagine that he’s on a real vacation. </p><p>Even Harry seems relaxed, and Louis is pleased that he’s come to terms with the reality that they aren’t meant to be. Because without that hanging over them – and when Harry’s not being a dick about it – they happen to get along. There are even moments when Louis catches himself thinking about how easily Harry would fit in with his friends at home. </p><p>Which is why he agrees to a walk on the beach after a very pink Niall decides to go inside to avoid a more serious sunburn and Shawn offers to keep him company. Going back to their room alone, Louis reasons that he’d have nothing to do but be anxious about his date – one more shot at the rest of his life. Bizarrely, listening to Harry talk seems to calm him down.</p><p>“You’ve been almost normal today,” Louis teases as they squelch through the wet sand, sandals dangling from their fingers. “What happened?”</p><p>“Gets exhausting, being charming all the time,” Harry grins, not offended. “Thought I’d give myself a break.”</p><p>“Right, of course.”</p><p>“Surprised you let me come, actually. But I’m glad you did. It’s been a nice day.”</p><p>There’s no expectation or demand in it, and Louis isn’t quite sure what to do with that.</p><p>“It has. It’s been...relaxing.”</p><p>“Niall’s great. You grew up together, I take it?”</p><p>Another point for Harry. Louis has never been able to stay friends with anyone who didn’t get Niall.</p><p>“Yeah, his family lived down the street from me, same school, college nearby. I can barely remember what it was like before we were friends, actually: me, Niall, and Liam.”</p><p>“Ah, the Three Musketeers. Couldn’t Liam make the trip?”</p><p>“No. Well, I don’t know, we didn’t actually invite him.”</p><p>“Ouch. Is that gonna be an issue?”</p><p>Louis sighs – not at the question but at himself.</p><p>“I’m going to be going home to a lot of angry and confused people, Harry. None I care about hurting as much as I do Liam, but I did what I had to. If I had told Liam that I heard from Damon, he wouldn’t have let me chase after him. And not because he doesn’t want me to be happy but because he does. Liam, I think he thinks that I want too much and I’ll make myself miserable if I don’t get it.”</p><p>“Is he right?” Harry asks after a beat.</p><p>“I guess we’ll find out.”</p><p>They’re both quiet for a while. The silt between Louis’ toes and the waves lapping at his feet have a strangely meditative quality. His t-shirt is starting to stick to his lower back, but he resists the temptation to take it off again. </p><p>If he were with Niall, he would. But he’s not.</p><p>“You know, I never got any messages, not like you, but I think I’ve always believed in fate,” Harry says, ending the silence.</p><p>“Oh yeah? Why?”</p><p>“Nothing big, just a lot of little things, you know. Stuff that could seem random, if you really wanted to convince yourself that it was. I’d miss a bus, then run into someone I hadn’t seen since middle school on the next one. Just moments like that. I told you I wasn’t lucky, and that’s true. But it can’t be everyone’s destiny to win the lottery. The economy couldn’t support it.”</p><p>Louis smiles. “You’ve got a point.”</p><p>“I guess I just like the idea that there’s a plan. Are you religious? Sorry if that’s too personal.”</p><p>“No, it’s okay. And no, I’m not religious at all. It was all over when my mom found out that my teacher cast me as Jesus in the school Easter play and that I declined.”</p><p>“Isn’t that commonly considered the lead?” Harry laughs. His mouth is almost too big for his face, Louis observes. It’s also shiny with the lip balm he applied after lunch, a tiny stubborn clump of it clinging to one corner.</p><p>“All that wound makeup, though.” Louis shudders at the thought. He hated even being close to the strips of lumpy wax they’d stick on the kid who did take the role. “Applied by a heavy-handed sixth grade stagehand? No, thank you.”</p><p>“Fair enough. Well anyway, neither am I. Religious, I mean. I believe in people more than anything. And whatever it is that binds us all together – a name for it, an explanation – that’s all irrelevant, isn’t it? Because whatever it is, we’re not supposed to understand it. So all we can do is just...what we think is right, I guess.”</p><p>“You like the mystery.”</p><p>Harry tugs on his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger. He took off his rings in the room, and Louis finds himself staring at the white strips of skin where they’d normally be.</p><p>“I like thinking about where destiny stops and free will takes over,” Harry says. “Like, would you have met Damon if you never went looking for him? And if you didn’t, would that mean that meeting him <em> wasn’t </em> your destiny? I’m not saying that’s true; it’s just an example. Because destiny <em> includes </em> you. It has to. It accounts for your choices.” He pauses. “And you’ve known since you were nine, <em> really?” </em></p><p>Louis nods, caught between the embarrassment of explaining what he’s allowed to define him and some relief that the person who’s asking about it seems, on some level, to understand.</p><p>“It’s like Niall and Liam, I almost can’t remember before. But I do remember the moment. I remember...pure sensation, almost. It was like a chill went up my spine, but not the kind you get when you’re home alone and you hear a noise. It was...and this probably sounds...but it was like something happened <em> to </em>me. Like I knew I’d never be the same again.”</p><p>He looks away from the endless beach in front of them and over at Harry, who isn’t laughing at him.</p><p>“I can’t imagine feeling something that intense so young,” Harry says seriously, his voice low.</p><p>Suddenly, it’s as if every turbulent minute of the past few days caught up with him during the course of this lazy afternoon, and Louis is compelled to confess something that he hasn’t admitted yet, even to himself. </p><p>“Sometimes I wish I’d never heard it,” he says, just loudly enough to be heard over the surf. “The name. I thought I wanted to know. I thought it would make it easier, but I was just a kid. I couldn’t have realized–” His voice catches as he realizes that he really means it. He’d wipe his memory of Damon Bradley if he could.</p><p>Harry puts a hand on his shoulder. “Are you–?”</p><p>“You’re talking about my choices,” Louis cuts him off. “But sometimes I feel like I’m not even in control of them anymore. Who leaves the country a week before they get married without telling their fiancé? What kind of a person does that?”</p><p>“I guess...somebody who wants to be happy.”</p><p>It’s a far kinder assessment than he deserves.</p><p>Harry pulls his hand away, and Louis is a little sick at the absence of it. Then sick at feeling sick, because he knows it isn’t right.</p><p>“I just wish I could trust the things that I feel,” he says.</p><p>This time, Harry clasps his hand and pulls them to a stop, turning Louis to face him in the process.</p><p>“Hey, listen to me: You’re in charge, okay?” Louis is immediately prompted to nod by the fire in Harry’s eyes. “This is about you. You’re gonna go to dinner tonight and you’re gonna look amazing and you’re gonna get to decide. <em> You. </em> Alright?”</p><p>Considering how he’s acted towards him, Louis has no idea why Harry has so much faith in him. But it’s almost contagious.</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>“Good.” Harry squeezes his hand before he drops it. “Then we should probably get back.”</p><p>*****</p><p>Louis is still in one of the hotel’s swanky robes, twice as thick as any of the bath towels he has at home, when Shawn arrives to pick Niall up for their dinner. He chose a restaurant he knows off of the resort, Niall told Louis earlier, so Louis could get to know Damon without feeling like he was under glass.</p><p>Louis only hears Shawn’s voice at first, in hushed awe over the way Niall’s double-breasted light blue linen suit matches his eyes, so he’s surprised when he comes back from the en suite to see Harry standing in their room as well. Niall also imparted that Harry had declined their invitation to join them, saying that he had already made plans for the night. Louis must have made a face at that, since Niall asked in an annoyingly canny tone what it was to him.</p><p>“I have a friend who’s docked in Positano for the week,” Shawn announces as Louis joins them. “She’s having a party on her yacht tonight, and I told her I’d bring all of my American friends. Does that sound good for later? Louis, bring Damon if you want to, of course.”</p><p>“Yeah, that sounds amazing. Thanks, man.”</p><p>“Good,” Shawn beams, then turns to Niall. “Ready, babe?”</p><p>Without thinking about it, Louis flicks his eyes to Harry. They smile at each other collusively.</p><p>“There’s going to be a check-in down at the docks; you won’t be able to miss it,” Shawn explains further as they head towards the door. “And Louis: good luck tonight.”</p><p>“You’ve got this, bro,” Niall adds.</p><p>“I thought you had somewhere else to be,” Louis challenges, when the door closes again with Harry still inside. </p><p>“Not just yet,” he says with a mysterious smile.</p><p>He’s certainly dressed for something, in a flamboyantly cut black suit made all the more so by the oxblood heeled boots and thin, ribbed tank top he’s wearing with it.</p><p>Louis turns his back to him and unzips the hotel garment bag that’s protecting his ensemble for the evening. Harry responds with a low whistle when it’s revealed. </p><p>“Glad you approve.”</p><p>Louis frees the double hanger completely from the bag, holding it carefully so the navy jacket and pants don’t wrinkle. On his way back into the en suite, he notices that Harry is still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, with both arms behind his back. </p><p>“What’s going on, what are you hiding?”</p><p>“Just a finishing touch. Go ahead, get dressed. I’ll show you when you’re done.”</p><p>Louis narrows his eyes at him as he pulls the door shut; he can hear a soft snort laugh behind it after he does.</p><p>A few seconds later, the room fills with music, only slightly muffled by the barrier. Nothing Louis recognizes, but it sounds like opera – primarily a soprano and strings. </p><p>“Is this okay?” Harry asks loudly.</p><p>Louis smiles to himself. How very Harry Styles to beg forgiveness instead of asking permission.</p><p>“By all means, make yourself at home!” he calls back. </p><p>Louis puts his hands on his hips and studies the suit that’s hanging on the back of the door. </p><p>Lillian had gotten her way with their wedding tuxes, but Louis drew the line at being told what to wear for two major life events in a row. He’d fallen in love with his rehearsal dinner suit because of its unexpected cut, two parallel buttons cutting the jacket drastically in at the waist before it flared out again over his hips. Worn with a white shirt and no tie, he thought that it made him look like he had a personality – like there was an individual underneath the upper-middle-class tedium of their wedding.</p><p>It also made his ass look fantastic, which was at least half of the appeal.</p><p>He unties his bathrobe and slides it off, hanging it back on the towel warmer. The steam already dissipated from his earlier shower; he feels his nipples harden under the shock of cool air. He tells himself that’s the reason for it, at least, and not the thought of Harry in the next room while he stands here in just his boxer briefs.</p><p>He’s just amped up, is all. In twenty minutes, he’ll see Damon again, and they’ll really talk, and Harry won’t be around to confuse him.</p><p>Those little shorts are to blame, anyway. Barely longer than what Louis is wearing right now.</p><p>Everything is on track.</p><p>Except that he forgot to bring the other half of his first layer into the bathroom with him.</p><p>“Harry,” he says, opening the door a crack and twisting his body to hide behind it. “Sorry, but could you hand me my–”</p><p>Before he can finish the request, a hand appears, passing him a white undershirt.</p><p>“Oh.” He takes it. “Thanks.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p>Louis tugs the shirt down over his head quickly, like it will protect him.</p><p>Two minutes later, he emerges again, fully dressed but for his bare feet.</p><p>Harry looks up from where he’s sitting in an armchair, bouncing a crossed leg and flipping through one of those local travel magazines that’s half ads for restaurants and jewelry stores.</p><p>His movements still.</p><p>“Well, fuck me,” he says.</p><p>Louis is startled into a laugh.</p><p>“Is that not what you were going for?” Harry unfolds himself and stands up. “‘Wow’ seemed insufficient, so.”</p><p>“It is pretty good, isn’t it?”</p><p>Egged on by Harry’s appreciation, Louis does a slow, full turn.</p><p>“Perfect for a date with destiny,” Harry concludes, his gaze soft. “You’re just missing one thing.”</p><p>He turns to pick up a shoe box that Louis hadn’t noticed was sitting on the end table, then holds it out to him.</p><p>Louis takes a few steps closer, accepting the box and slowly lifting the lid. He folds back tissue paper to reveal a pair of apron-toe leather Gucci horsebit loafers in a honey brown – just the shoes he would have picked for this outfit if he had had unlimited money to spend on them.</p><p>His eyes snap to Harry’s.</p><p>“Are these–these aren’t real.”</p><p>“I told you, I know a guy.”</p><p>“Harry, this is too much. I can’t accept these.”</p><p>“He owed me a favor. These only cost me a phone call, I swear. Go ahead, try them on. They should fit like a glove.”</p><p>Harry switches places with him so that Louis can sit in the chair. Before Louis can argue that he’ll do it himself, Harry kneels down and produces a shoehorn out of his pocket.</p><p>“You really do take that thing everywhere, don’t you?” </p><p>“Well, it comes in surprisingly handy,” Harry counters with a playful lilt.</p><p>When he flips his palm over, Louis gives him his left foot. Harry isn’t bothered that it’s bare, but Louis is suddenly very thankful that he showered barely half an hour ago.</p><p>Harry’s cool, dry hand closes around the sole and he holds it there as he pulls tight clumps of tissue out of the toe of each shoe. </p><p>It’s the strangest feeling. It’s such a utilitarian part of his body, the skin thick and tough enough to carry his weight all day. But Louis isn’t often touched here – not by another person. The pad of Harry’s thumb trails down his arch when he readjusts the position of his hand to slide on the shoe. Louis grips the arms of the chair tightly, his back ruler-straight.</p><p>Neither of them says another word while Harry finishes his work. In his head, Louis tries to translate snatches of the impassioned Italian of whatever opera is playing to keep his attention from drifting to the way that Harry’s tank top is falling away from his body as he leans forward, exposing the top of the intricate moth tattoo Louis got his first glimpse of earlier today.</p><p>When both shoes are firmly on his feet, he stands.</p><p>As promised, they fit like they were made for him. They’re the most expensive thing he’s ever had on his body, besides the Ralph Lauren tux he’s supposed to wear when he marries Philip, and that doesn’t count, because he hates it. </p><p>“Well? D’you like them?”</p><p><em> “Like </em> them?” Louis flexes his feet, just to feel the leather give again. “Harry, these are fucking <em> exquisite.” </em></p><p>Harry grins, bringing out his dimples, and shifts like he’s trying to stand. Louis offers his hand and Harry clasps it, using the counterweight to come to his feet. The physics of it almost bring him crashing into Louis.</p><p>He’s so close, Louis can feel his breath on his face, as well as the heat radiating from his skin after their day at the beach. Louis can’t step back – there’s a chair right behind his thighs – but he discovers, beyond everything he thought he knew about himself, that he doesn’t want to.</p><p>Harry isn’t looking at him in the eyes, though. He seems to be zeroed in to something just below them, and Louis is about to ask whether he has something on his face, when–</p><p>“Your freckles…” Harry says quietly, connecting their gazes again. He’s not smiling anymore.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“They really came out in the sun today. I didn’t realize you had so many.”</p><p>“Oh,” Louis says, captivated by how mystified Harry sounds. </p><p>It must be fear. Just fear of the unknown that has him wishing that he and Harry were about to leave the room and go get a table downstairs together. It’s apprehension about the ultimate truth Damon represents that has him fantasizing about more nights like this – getting dressed to music and pre-dinner cocktails. Eliciting the same spark of approval from Harry and letting that carry him into the night.</p><p>After all, he did believe, once, that he wanted to do those things with Philip. And look where that got him.</p><p>But try as he may, Louis is finding it difficult to picture Damon’s face right now. It’s Harry’s worried, little-boy forehead that’s in front of him. His bottle-green eyes, his pink lips, slightly chapped despite the effort to protect them.</p><p>He’s the one who’s frozen in Louis’ space, waiting for Louis to decide.</p><p>The same “fuck it” spirit that brought him to Italy in the first place roils within him, and all at once, he can think of nothing better to do than to taste Harry’s mouth again.</p><p>His eyes drop down to it, and Harry keys in, his posture changing slightly. The music swells around them, the most accomplished voices in the world singing about god knows what, but doing it with every ounce of fire they have inside them. Maybe control, Louis thinks, doesn’t have to be that complicated. Maybe it just means doing what he wants when he wants to without worrying about what it means or whose plan it fits into.</p><p>Maybe getting control means giving it up.</p><p>He parts his lips, inching smoothly towards Harry. A tentative thumb glances against his cheek, right where Louis knows he has a triangle of freckles. He’s rapidly approaching the precipice of something – surrender, maybe. He doesn’t much care.</p><p>And then the song ends. A DJ, speaking animatedly and at twice the volume of the music that was just playing, cuts in between them, completely severing the moment. </p><p>He talks about what’s coming up in the next hour. Alle vente. The eight o’clock hour. </p><p>Damon will be waiting for him at eight, but for who knows how long. The tether tightens again.</p><p>Louis’ expression must shift, because Harry’s touch disappears.</p><p>“I need to–I’m going to be late.”</p><p>Harry drops his eyes to the floor – or maybe to Louis’ shoes – and clears his throat. Louis is suddenly afraid of what he’ll see when he raises his face again. </p><p>But he doesn’t seem angry. Or hurt. Maybe disappointed, but only in his eyes. </p><p>Giving Louis room to leave, he smiles, almost to himself, and nods once, like everything had happened exactly the way he thought it would.</p><p>“Well, you better get down there, then.”</p><p>“I should. I’m sorry. Will you be–”</p><p>“Fine. I’ll be fine. I have plans anyway, so.”</p><p>Louis wants to ask what they are, but does he even have the right? At any rate, Harry’s looking forward to them, judging by his apparent indifference to Louis leaving.</p><p>The guy with the Gucci connection, maybe. Could be something more than a professional relationship. It’s a logical guess but not a pleasant thought. Louis wipes it away quickly.</p><p>“D’you mind,” Harry asks, as Louis checks his hair one last time in the mirror on the wall, “can I use your bathroom before I leave?”</p><p>“Of course, yeah.” Louis pauses at the door, a ball of regret starting to form in the pit of his stomach. “See you at the yacht later? …A sentence I never thought I’d say.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Harry laughs softly. “I’ll see you later, Lou.”</p><p>When he closes the door behind him, Louis blows out a shuddering breath. Rolling his shoulders back, he sets his sights on the elevator at the opposite end of the hall, swallowing down the impulse to reverse course, stick his head in the sand, and hide in Harry.</p><p>It doesn’t feel like strength, though, walking away from him. It feels like being chained to something else.</p><p>Because he won’t know until he knows, will he? There will always be the fear that there’s something better out there for him – someone with whom he’d be different. Kinder. More content. Less selfish.</p><p>When it came to Philip, that was never difficult to believe. </p><p>When the elevator deposits him on the correct floor, it’s two minutes after eight.</p><p>Louis quickens his pace, following signs for the restaurant and judging himself for panicking. </p><p>If Damon were the kind of guy to stand him up for being a few minutes late, he certainly wouldn’t be worth it. </p><p>But still – not the impression he wants to make.</p><p>Finally, he spots what must be the entrance out to the veranda, blocked by a small crowd of diners waiting to be seated. Damon isn’t among them, so when the group is led away by their waiter, Louis approaches the host stand and asks if there’s a table for Bradley. </p><p>The hostess smiles and gestures for him to follow her. They weave between tables bearing beautifully plated food on fine, white china, and then he sees him. Damon is facing away from him, looking much different dry and fully clothed. Louis recognizes him from the tattoos on his neck.</p><p>He must be crazy, dreading this.</p><p>Damon exists. He’s here. There has to be something to that.</p><p>He could be about to have the best night of his entire life.</p><p>“Signor,” the hostess says, depositing Louis at their table. </p><p>Damon stands to greet him, and Louis could swear the whole restaurant pays attention to it.</p><p>He’s wearing a white suit with a white shirt buttoned to the middle of his chest. His hair is blown back, one perfect strand falling artfully into his eyes. He’s utterly relaxed and at ease in his own skin, which is the only aspect of the whole package that intimidates Louis.</p><p>They must look good together in their contrast and similarities, he thinks. Their summer suits and elegant bone structure. His compact curves to Damon’s slim, skateboarder’s body. And he can see from the corner of his eye that Damon isn’t the only one who’s drawing stares.</p><p>“Hi,” he says, some faith filtering back in.</p><p>“Hey,” Damon answers, with a sexy, noncommittal smirk.</p><p>As Louis sits down, a busboy rushes over to fill his water glass from the bottle at the table, then leaves just as quickly.</p><p>“You look fit,” Damon says.</p><p>“Thanks. You too.” The “obviously” is silent.</p><p>“I ordered some white wine. I hope that’s alright. Didn’t want to risk red, y’know. Not in this.” </p><p>“No, of course. White is fine, thank you.”</p><p>Damon smiles, then turns his attention to his menu.</p><p>Louis isn’t hungry – hadn’t even really thought of food in the context of the evening. Not that he thought they’d forgot to order anything, but he did imagine that there’d be a little more conversation first. Damon, meanwhile, is reading intently, seriously weighing his options.</p><p>“So, you’re probably wondering why I came up to you today,” Louis ventures after a frustrating pause.</p><p>Damon glances up and shakes his head, pooching out his bottom lip.</p><p>“Nah, not really.</p><p>“No?”</p><p>He shrugs. “Happens all the time.”</p><p>“Oh.” Defeated, Louis opens his own menu. “So, what looks good?”</p><p>“I migh’ get the scampi.”</p><p>“Oh, you like shrimp?” Louis attempts, perking up again. “I like shrimp too.”</p><p>“Do ya?” Damon says evenly, like he’s humoring an overenthusiastic child. “That’s nice.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Days ago, when Niall was rooting through his best friend’s underwear drawer and unsuccessfully trying to talk himself out of enabling his moderately destructive impulsiveness, he couldn’t have possibly imagined himself here.</p><p>Here being on a sixty-foot yacht floating in the Mediterranean, surrounded by people who carry their financial comfort and beauty like the miracle of neither has even occurred to them, and holding a glass of what he’s certain is vintage champagne.</p><p>But the remarkable doesn’t stop there.</p><p>He’s been backed into a somewhat secluded corner by Shawn, who’s glowing under the string lights and leaning into him unambiguously – his movie-star smile warm and tipsy but not confused. It’s the same look he was giving him over candlelight at dinner – which was also classy and incredible – and that Niall saw in profile as they walked from the restaurant to the dock. </p><p>It’s blinding. So blinding and unflinching that he wants to look away.</p><p>“Is your friend here?” he asks. “We should probably thank her.”</p><p>“Look around.” Shawn doesn’t. “It would take us all night to find her. Anyway, she’s not like that. She just wants everyone to have a good time. Are <em> you </em>having a good time?”</p><p>It’s a genuine question. Niall feels guilty for prompting it.</p><p>“Would it surprise you to learn that we don’t go to a lot of luxurious yacht parties in Pittsburgh?”</p><p>“But you have so much water,” Shawn grins, his cheeks dimpling.</p><p>“Yeah, for river boats and barges and shit.”</p><p>“You’re funny. Have I mentioned that you’re funny?”</p><p>Shawn closes the distance between them, his fingers lightly wrapping around the wrist of the hand holding the champagne, keeping it steady. He kisses Niall, and, like the first time, there’s something all-encompassing about it. All those little realities – that they don’t live in the same country, still know barely anything about each other, and have a very definitive expiration date – blink out of existence for the time being.</p><p>“Maybe I’m being too forward,” Shawn breathes, his face hovering close, “but if it wasn’t clear already, I hope you’ll come back to my room with me tonight.”</p><p>There’s been a lot of this. A lot of Shawn backing him into walls and Niall sliding his hands up his back and their tongues sliding together with both abandon and purpose. But nothing further, not yet. Niall wants to get there, realizes that tonight could be his only chance to have this. But it feels too easy somehow – like something that should be happening to someone else.</p><p>As if on cue, Shawn dips in again, nipping at the hinge of his jaw, right underneath his ear.</p><p>Niall groans, as discreetly as he can manage. But Shawn’s lips and teeth are clouding his mind. He pushes firmly on his shoulders until Shawn takes the point and gives him some room.</p><p>“And then what?”</p><p>“Well, first, I’m going to peel this suit off of you.” Shawn fingers a button on his jacket and heat rushes towards Niall’s groin. “Slowly. And then–”</p><p>“No,” he cuts in, his voice a little strangled. “That’s–that’s not what I meant.” He pauses. “We’re going home soon. Probably tomorrow.”</p><p>“I know.” Shawn reaches out and smoothes back his hair.</p><p>“And it sucks.”</p><p>“I know. For me too, you do realize that, right?”</p><p>“Shawn, come on.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’re gonna look me in the eye and tell me that I’m the first tourist you’ve ever seduced?”</p><p>“I <em> seduced </em>you?” Shawn laughs, but not at him. “I thought I was showing my interest.”</p><p>“Let’s just say that’s not how they’re doing it back in the States. They’re more into waiting four days to call, flirting with other people in front of you – that kind of thing.”</p><p>“So, wait. Let me get this straight: because I want you and I <em> told </em>you I want you and I act like I want you, you don’t trust me?”</p><p>Well, when he puts it that way.</p><p>“More like I don’t trust myself,” Niall corrects, seeing it more clearly.</p><p>“Baby, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do. We can just drink and dance and have fun tonight. I just want to be with you while I can, however I can.”</p><p>“It’s not that I don’t–” Niall flattens his palm on Shawn’s chest and wishes he could get out of his own way. “Things have been pretty shitty lately, and maybe I’ve been burned one too many times. I used to be a lot more fun.”</p><p>“I’m sorry you’ve been treated that way. It’s not my intention to add to it. I can understand why that’s difficult to believe, but all I can do is tell you how I feel.”</p><p>Shawn takes Niall’s hand and holds it between his own.</p><p>“I’m not a monk. But you aren’t either.” He says this with a twinkle, and Niall smiles. “And I swear on my grandmother’s memory that you are the only tourist from America or anywhere else that I’ve ever called in sick to drive to Positano. Do you believe me?”</p><p>Niall nods. Something heavy inside him starts to lift.</p><p>“When I moved here,” Shawn continues. “I learned just to be direct when I liked someone. Italians, they don’t play games, and they’re not as scared of being rejected as I used to be. The friends I made – if the first girl said no, they’d move right on to the one sitting next to her. But that’s not what’s happening here. To be perfectly honest, I’m having trouble imagining anyone who could possibly follow you.”</p><p>It doesn’t change their circumstances or make the future any clearer. If anything, Niall thinks, it’ll only make it hurt more when he’s back in Pennsylvania, picturing Shawn still here, charming customers; driving with the wind in his hair, one wrist holding the steering wheel steady; or sunbathing facedown on a beach towel, his head resting on his arms and the curve of his back on display.</p><p>But that kind of hurting he can manage. Especially if it’s mutual.</p><p>“I didn’t see you coming,” he says, breaking a short silence. “Not at all.”</p><p>Sensing that he’s scaled a wall, Shawn grins.</p><p>And this time, it’s Niall who initiates the kiss.</p><p>*****</p><p>“This is pretty amazing, isn’t it?”</p><p>Louis turns back to look at Damon after he’s helped from the little speed boat that brought them there. Damon is unfazed. </p><p>“Yeah, it’s nice.”</p><p>Louis faces forward again. First, so that he doesn’t trip on his way into the festivities, which would immediately expose him as a person who isn’t all that used to private boats of this size; and second, so that Damon won’t see him widen his eyes with exasperation. </p><p>He may have a tendency to overreact. This trip in and of itself is proof that Louis doesn’t always think things through and can let his emotions dictate his actions. But Damon is so even-keeled – so sedate – that Louis thought he might nod off between their antipasti and entrees. Nothing got a rise out of him. Not Louis inviting him to a multi-millionaire’s boat for a nightcap, not the expensive champagne that was sent to their table with no explanation, and – worst of all – not Louis himself. Damon seemed to lack object permanence when it came to him; Louis almost expected a “who are you?” when he came back from the bathroom.</p><p>He was courteous to the staff and nice enough to Louis, but Louis didn’t come all this way for nice. Seemingly available, that was a must. Gorgeous, a significant bonus. But he isn’t quite sure what to do with a soulmate who’s given so many one-word answers. On a first date, no less.</p><p>Still, Louis hasn’t given up. Damon might just be the kind of person who takes a while to warm up. He might have smoked a joint before dinner and gotten really mellow, though a strategic (and hopefully covert) sniff as they boarded the little boat that would take them to the big one seemed to invalidate that theory. At any rate, Louis is too busy coming up with strategies to break through to Damon to listen to the voice inside him whispering that he would have had a much better time at dinner with Harry.</p><p>So, of course, he’s the first person Louis sees as he steps out onto the upper deck.</p><p>He’s not talking to anyone, just standing alone and holding an almost empty rocks glass, one hand in his pocket. </p><p>Some of the tension of trying so hard all night evaporates at the sight of him. Louis’ shoulders relax down his back, which is fine. Then Harry spots him, and Louis’ stomach flips over, and that’s not.</p><p>Something’s happened since Louis left Harry in his room, however. There’s urgency in the way he’s holding his jaw as he heads straight for him, and Louis’ belly reacts again, this time with dread.</p><p>“Is everything okay?” Louis says when Harry’s close enough to hear. “Niall, is he–”</p><p>“Making out with Shawn over there.”</p><p>“Oh. Okay, good, because you seem–” Harry looks over Louis’ shoulder at Damon and his eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly. “Are <em> you </em>okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine.” He’s not smiling. “Louis, can I talk to you for a minute?”</p><p>Louis half turns to Damon. “I–”</p><p>“We just got here, mate,” Damon interjects, directing his words to Harry. “Can’t we get a drink first?”</p><p>Harry’s voice hardens. “I really need to speak with Louis. Alone.”</p><p>“Well, that’s too bad.” Damon snakes an arm around Louis’ shoulder. Harry stares at it. “He’s here with me.”</p><p>“Now, hey, wait a second…” Louis trails off when he realizes that neither Damon nor Harry are paying any attention to him. Something personal is passing between, which would be impossible, unless…</p><p>“Oi, here.” Damon flags down a nearby cocktail waiter. “What do you want?” he asks Louis, blocking Harry out.</p><p>“For god’s sake, Zayn!” Harry explodes. “Haven’t you done enough?”</p><p>The music, the ding of glassware, and all the chatter around them is replaced by a ringing in Louis’ ears. The waiter moves on hurriedly, and Harry’s face contorts into shock and regret as he realizes what he’s done.</p><p>“What?” Louis sputters. “Is this–do you two <em> know </em>each other?!”</p><p>“Oh, well done, Haz,” the other man – Zayn, apparently – scolds.</p><p>“Lou, please,” Harry begs. “Just–come with me over here, I’ll explain.”</p><p>“I’m not going anywhere with you. What the hell is this?”</p><p>“Zayn is...a friend.”</p><p>“Of yours.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“He’s not Damon Bradley.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“And you knew that.”</p><p>“I…” Harry falters, then nods heavily. “Yes.”</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees that Shawn and Niall are among the audience they’ve gathered, and they’re both watching with concern.</p><p>“This is just a joke to you, isn’t it?” he seethes, ignoring every prying eye. “Louis and his ridiculous fantasy. You may think it’s stupid, but it’s <em> my life. </em>You have no right to mess with it.”</p><p>“I know. I fucked up. I was so desperate, Louis. You were leaving, and I was never going to see you again. And then I remembered that Zayn was coming here after the shows, and I just thought...if you had proof – if you thought you’d met Damon, then you’d see that this thing between us is special. Once-in-a-lifetime.”</p><p>“And I fell for it. Again.”</p><p>“I tried to stop it. It shouldn’t have taken so long, but it hit me today, how unforgivable this was, and I tried. I looked for Zayn all over this afternoon, and when I couldn’t find him, I left messages telling him not to come.” Harry looks at Zayn. “You weren’t supposed to come.”</p><p>“Sorry, man,” Zayn mutters, looking very much like he hadn’t realized what he was getting himself into by doing this favor. “Must not’ve seen the light.”</p><p>“I was going to tell you everything,” Harry continues, locking eyes with Louis again and taking a tentative step closer. “Because it was wrong and you deserve to know but also because I believe in us. I believe in this. And I think you were starting to too.”</p><p>Louis swallows, flashing back to Harry’s thumb on his cheekbone, the hitch in his own breathing. He hadn’t tried to hide it, how strongly he’d been drawn to him in that moment. If Harry had come clean then, when Louis was already half-tempted to blow off his date, it might have clouded his judgment a little more.</p><p>“Why didn’t you just say something in the room?” he asks anyway, wanting to feel the pain. “Why did you even let me leave?” </p><p>Harry drops his eyes briefly. “I wanted it to be romantic? Stupid. I was so stupid.”</p><p>“You ordered the champagne for the table,” Louis realizes slowly. “It was you.”</p><p>“I didn’t know if you’d even talk to me, but I...Only when I got to the restaurant, you weren’t alone, so I couldn’t say what I wanted to, which is that I’m sorry and I’ve been such a selfish idiot but I’m more in love with you than ever.”</p><p>Louis nods, his teeth digging into his lower lip. Every single person, staff and guest, in their immediate vicinity is watching them, their own business forgotten for the time being. </p><p>“Harry,” he begins, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “I’ve had enough of the lies. So I’m going to be completely straight with you right now: I don’t ever want to see you again.” </p><p>Harry opens his mouth to protest, to apologize again, to make Louis feel even more lost, but Louis cuts him off. </p><p>“Ni!” he calls across the deck. “I’m sorry, but I need to–”</p><p>“Yep,” Niall says, squeezing Shawn’s arm and then coming to stand at Louis’ side, avoiding Harry’s eyes.</p><p>“Can we–?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Niall agrees, turning them away from Harry and towards the staircase leading to where they boarded. “Let’s get outta here.”</p><p>They don’t talk much over the motor as they’re sped back to the dock. Louis spends the short trip trying to figure out how he could have gotten it so wrong so many times. </p><p>Knowing about his soulmate was supposed to take the guesswork out of happiness – it was supposed to give him confidence, to be a roadmap. But he has even less now than he did before he picked up the phone and spoke to Damon Bradley.</p><p>He’s still out there, presumably, but there isn’t anything left in Louis that’s motivated to look for him. If the gods have a plan for him yet, he’d rather not hear the rest of it. Because there is no such thing as magic or someone being made for you or perfect, written-in-the-stars love. There are just choices and people hurting each other and – for him – a wedding that should have been called off months ago.</p><p>“Hey,” Louis says, as he and Niall scale the seemingly infinite stone stairs up to the hotel entrance, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s no big deal. I wasn’t going to let you come back by yourself.”</p><p>“No, I mean for making you come out here in the first place. It was a selfish thing to do, and I feel terrible about it.”</p><p>“Are you kidding me?” Niall laughs, the tension broken. “This has been the best weekend of my entire life.”</p><p>“It has?”</p><p>“Uh, <em> yeah</em>. If you want to think of me as the long-suffering sidekick, be my guest, but I tagged along because I wanted to. Maybe I wasn’t totally conscious of it at the time, but I needed this as much as you did. And I definitely don’t have any regrets. Nice shoes, by the way. Are those new?”</p><p>Louis ignores the last comment.</p><p>“Then you should stay.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Just for a little bit. I’m going to go home tomorrow and end things with Philip the right way, but I don’t think you’re done here. Not just yet.”</p><p>Niall grows quiet again, taking in Louis’ meaning.</p><p>“It won’t work in the long run,” he says after a beat. “I mean...I don’t know how it could.”</p><p>“Because maybe you both want it to?” Louis ventures. “That’s not everything, but it’s a start.”</p><p>Another stretch of silence – somehow, even more stairs – and then: “Lou?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“I’m sorry, too, about Harry. I know you were–”</p><p>“Nothing,” Louis cuts in, his heart aching almost as badly as his knees. “We were nothing.”</p><p>*****</p><p>“Payne Construction,” Liam answers the phone, surprised to hear it ringing already, as he’s just turning on the lights for the day.</p><p>“Liam, hey.”</p><p>He plops into his desk chair, the force of it causing the seat to drop a few inches.</p><p>“Niall, is that you? Where the hell have you been? Are you alright? Is Louis alright?”</p><p>“It’s fine, we’re both fine,” Niall’s voice crackles on the line, making him sound very far away.</p><p>“Why haven’t you called? What’s going on?”</p><p>“Li, Li, slow down, I’ll explain.”</p><p>“Sorry, yeah. It’s just – you guys fell off the face of the earth, you know?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Niall exhales, “I know.”</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“We went to Italy.”</p><p><em> “Italy- </em>Italy?”</p><p>“That’s the one. Louis is on his way home now, and he’s kind of a wreck – can you pick him up from the airport? TWA 316, around 12:30.”</p><p>Liam tries to mentally order his dozens of questions, like shouldn’t he be getting the both of them?</p><p>“Yeah, of course. But I don’t understand–”</p><p>“Remember that Christmas when Louis got the Ouija board and he made us play with it?”</p><p>“Yeah, so?”</p><p>“He asked for his soulmate and it spelled out a name. You know he was having doubts about Philip – we both knew. And then he called.”</p><p>Liam frowns. “Philip called?”</p><p>“No, his soulmate called. Damon Bradley, from the airport.”</p><p>Bradley, Damon Bradley. The name rings a bell to Liam, but the significance doesn’t fully land until halfway through Niall’s next sentence. When it does, his blood turns cold.</p><p>“Louis thought that was it, it was his shot, so we followed him to Italy. A lot of other stuff happened, which I’ll tell you about later, when you can also yell at me for being so irresponsible, but the important thing is that we never found him.”</p><p>“You can’t be–this whole time? He still thought that was real?”</p><p>“Look, you can say this to me, but be cool when you see him, alright? He’s been through a lot.”</p><p>“Ni, I’m not judging. I <em> know. </em>”</p><p>“Know, what do you mean, you know?”</p><p>“Damon Bradley,” Liam admits, “that was me. Louis wasn’t going to let us do anything else until he got the answer, so I pushed it, the thingy.”</p><p>“Liam, please tell me you’re joking.”</p><p>“Well, how was I supposed to know he’d take it seriously?”</p><p>“Because Louis takes everything seriously! What about the fortune teller?”</p><p>“I slipped her five bucks. It was a joke.”</p><p>“Liam.”</p><p>“He pantsed me in gym class that week!”</p><p>“He is so going to kill you, dude. But wait...then who did he talk to on the phone?”</p><p>“The real Damon, I assume. First name I could think of was a kid I used to play in Little League – he was kind of a jerk, actually. Philip must know him.”</p><p>Niall sniffs. “He would.”</p><p>Liam had been eager for the relief of hearing from his missing friends, but now it’s been replaced by a different type of worry. How can he face Louis later, knowing what he knows now? He thought he’d been left out of the loop, but in the end it’s his fault. All of it.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I can’t process this. It was just a prank, dumb kid stuff...D’you think – did I ruin his life?”</p><p>Niall laughs, a great, big cackle that’s the same on a transatlantic, long-distance line.</p><p>“Do I think that you hatched some psychological terror plot against our best friend when we were in the third grade? No. But you got frustrated and picked that name, and then years later, he called, days before Louis was supposed to marry somebody he doesn’t love. I know you don’t believe in fate, but you have to admit, it’s a pretty weird coincidence.”</p><p>“I guess,” Liam says, still guilty.</p><p>“You may have set something else big in motion too,” Niall adds, enigmatically. “But I’ll leave that to him to explain, if I’m right.”</p><p>*****</p><p>Louis left for the airport an hour and a half earlier than he needed to.</p><p>He couldn’t run the risk of seeing Harry, and he didn’t put it past him to post up by the doors and wait for him. Five am, however, seemed like a safe hour.</p><p>Part of him had expected a call or a knock on his door after the yacht, but Harry didn’t try to contact him. Not when he and Niall were sharing a jar of macadamia nuts and watching dubbed episodes of <em> Cheers, </em>and not after Niall left, with Louis’ full blessing, to spend the rest of the night in Shawn’s room. </p><p>He caught himself checking his blind spots in the hallway, the lobby, and out by the taxi stand, but he got out of the resort without incident. Drinking his triple espresso in an airport coffee shop, Louis pinpoints the thread of disappointment running through his relief at being clear of the whole thing.</p><p>He really thought there’d be one more encounter with Harry – one more time he’d pop up to see through him, to challenge him, to make him feel more angry and alive than anyone else ever had. Louis knew exactly what he would say when Harry appealed to him again, had planned out the whole speech, but in the quiet of the morning, his retorts are still ringing through his head unspoken. </p><p>The Naples airport isn’t quite as nice as the one in Pittsburgh, but there are elements that almost every airport has that make it feel familiar and calming. With his extra time, he eats a leisurely breakfast and wanders in and out of the few retail stores that are open. He even gets an approving nod from a clerk in the luxury accessories section of the duty-free shoppe.</p><p>Louis wore his Gucci loafers because he was afraid to check them – and because they’re the most comfortable shoes he owns. </p><p>For a few wild seconds, back in Positano, he considered leaving them in the room, but decided ultimately that the sacrifice would be pointless.</p><p>He didn’t need a pair of shoes to remind him of the mistake he almost made with Harry.</p><p>The airport gets busier as the morning goes on. Louis considers buying another calling card and trying to reach Liam, but it’s still the middle of the night there. And Niall had promised that he’d make sure that someone was there to pick him up on the other end. Worst-case, he’d just hail a cab.</p><p>He ends up in the bookstore next. There are English-language novels, but Louis knows that none could possibly hold his attention right now. He selects a few glossy magazines, pays for them, and starts flipping through one at his gate.</p><p>He’s half-reading about the five essential things Drew Barrymore always carries in her bag when the calm, clear, customer service voice of a woman comes over the PA system. The announcement is in Italian and mostly washes over him without connecting, until she enunciates a decidedly non-Italian name.</p><p>Louis shoves the magazine in his backpack and stands up, waiting for the translated message.</p><p>“Paging passenger Damon Bradley,” the voice says in accented English. “Damon Bradley, please come to the information desk; you have a message.”</p><p>There’s no way. There’s just no way. </p><p>But Louis checks the signs overhead and takes off running anyway, careful not to hit anyone and catch the attention of security. </p><p>No one gives him a second look, however, least of all the staff, who are used to watching late travelers sprint to their gates. Louis’ backpack slams against his side rhythmically as he covers the last bit of carpeted hallway before reaching the area that’s identified, in six languages, as the info desk. </p><p>There’s a man facing the woman at the counter, and Louis skids to a stop behind him, just as someone else, who was running from the other direction, does the same.</p><p>Harry’s eyebrows fly upward when he sees Louis. Louis <em> almost </em>smiles, can feel the muscles around his mouth twitching, but he steels his expression instead.</p><p>“Well,” Harry says, in that deep drawl Louis never thought he’d hear again. “Moment of truth.”</p><p>Louis cocks his head, and they both reach out to tap the man on different shoulders.</p><p>He turns around, and it’s not even in slow motion. The man flashes the benignly friendly smile of a person who’s about to be asked for directions, and Louis feels nothing – a glorious rush of absolutely nothing.</p><p>“Can I help you?”</p><p>“Excuse me,” Harry says, before Louis can head him off. “Are you Damon Bradley?”</p><p>“I am,” Damon confirms. There’s the slightest bit of grey at his temples. He has a navy blue sweater tied around his shoulders, and a small coffee stain on one of his cuffs. “And you are?”</p><p>“I’m Harry, and this is Louis–” Louis waves awkwardly when Damon nods politely at him. “And Louis here has been looking for you his whole life.”</p><p>Damon is puzzled, and rightfully so. “Oh?”</p><p>“He thinks you’re his soulmate because of a Ouija board. I love him, I probably always will, but you’re the lucky man, because you have the right name. So, best of luck to both of you. I’ll let you get on with the rest of your lives.” </p><p>Harry presses his lips together, crosses behind Louis, and disappears into the crowd, leaving him fish-mouthed in front of Damon, who clearly just wants to escape to a ten-minute chair massage.</p><p>“He loves me,” Louis mutters, his heart still rabbiting in his chest. </p><p>“Well, I can see that,” Damon says, kindly. “I suppose the question is: Do you love him?”</p><p>The epiphany hits him so hard that Louis nearly loses his balance.</p><p>He was so focused on chasing this feeling – real, infuriating, demanding love – that he almost sped right past it. No matter what either of them have done and for what reasons, he would have missed Harry for the rest of his life.</p><p>“I do, Damon.” Somehow it makes sense for him to be the first person that he tells. “I really, really do.”</p><p>“Well…that’s great,” Damon says, happy to have solved the problem. “Congratulations. But you should probably go tell him that.”</p><p>Then Louis hears it over the loudspeaker, the boarding call for Boston. He takes a deep, fortifying inhale. At least this time he knows what he’s running to.</p><p>“Thank you, Damon,” he says, forcibly shaking the man’s hand. “I hope you’re very happy too.”</p><p>Damon furrows his brow, but accepts the strangely sincere comment in the spirit in which it was given. Louis leaves him there, every cell focused on catching his actual soulmate before it’s too late.</p><p>He’s at the very front of the line, about to hand his boarding pass to the agent, when Louis hits the gate.</p><p>“Harry!” he calls, then again, because he hasn’t caught his breath yet. “Harry, wait!”</p><p>Harry apologizes to the agent, then steps out of line, his smile growing as he walks towards Louis. </p><p>Louis drops his backpack to the floor and pushes his hair away from his sweaty forehead. Three-quarters of the people in their vicinity are already boldly watching them, sensing that they’re about to have a story to tell.</p><p>“Sorry to interrupt the boarding process,” Louis says, pleased to oblige in this case. “But before you leave, I thought there was something you should know.”</p><p>Harry is quiet for once, blatant adoration written on his face.</p><p>“I <em> was </em>born to kiss you,” Louis states, with all the confidence in his heart. “I got that right the first time. And to fight with you and dance with you and get really old with you...”</p><p>“We’ll be so cute when we’re old,” Harry grins. </p><p>“I know!” Louis laughs, feeling giddy about a future that once seemed so dull. “I think I can’t wait.”</p><p>“Well, don’t rush it, Lou.” Harry slides their palms together and tugs him forward, bringing their hips flush. “We have so much to do before then.”</p><p>The cheering starts before their lips even meet. But Louis feels so weightless, he could easily be convinced that he's literally just imagining it.</p><p>Harry's hand on the back of his neck, holding him close – that's real. So is the sigh that escapes his own mouth as he changes the angle of the kiss. </p><p>This full body and soul response he'd been trying so hard to debunk, to ignore, to bury – he can only now see it for what it is: absolute truth. </p><p>The next year – and every year until he retires – when Louis lectures his kids about Plato and the origin of love and finally becoming whole, this is the moment he remembers.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You've already done enough by reading to the end, but if you enjoyed, I would love to hear from you. Here's the <a href="https://a-brighter-yellow.tumblr.com/post/629061668063870976/you-who-never-arrived-by-abrighteryellow">Tumblr post</a> for your reblogging consideration. Please come and <a href="https://a-brighter-yellow.tumblr.com/">say hello there</a> too!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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